


Wartime Toxins {Closed, Incomplete}

by dissocitopia (orphan_account)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Ableist!Hux, Airplane Pilot!Poe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apothecary!Reader, Blood, Dog!BB-8, F/M, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nature-Oriented Reader, Other, Personal Trainer!Phasma, Poison/Toxin Mentions, Post-Starkiller Destruction, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoker!Hux, Suicidal Thoughts, TW: Ableist Slur, Terrorism, bear cubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 12:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5829325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/dissocitopia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Modern-Setting Alternate Universe; Post-Force Awakens) The continent is captivated in a nerve-wracking terrorist war that sent the central government crashing down; it is the battlefield of a power-grab between the militaristic fascism of the First Order and the liberating Resistance. After the victory that was meant to subdue the First Order through a coast-to-coast decimation of First Order residencies, you cut ties with the Resistance with the aspiration to restart your life on clean slate. However, when you're unknowingly dragged back into the civil war you no longer wanted anything to do with, you find yourself as the First Order's key to revenge against your will. </p><p>______________________________________________________</p><p>Eventual Kylo Ren/You with attributes of love and hate smashed together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun shone brightly upon the faded red brickwork of the two-story apartment building situated between countless other apartment buildings. The neighbourhood was classy and Brooklyn-esque, if Brooklyn truly was like your old television sitcoms. You had moved all of your belongings into your new apartment just yesterday, but still had yet to lug your personal boxes up the stairs. It wasn't much, but some of it was... intimate, if you may.

Parallel parking your car away from the fire hydrant, you shut off the vehicle and grabbed the stack of three boxes situated in the passenger seat. Your arms quivered lifting them, but the troubles quelled once you adjusted your grip. 

Making it into the building was difficult, as grabbing the handle to the main entrance was task enough. The actual quest was not falling backwards down the flight of stairs, but it was worth the struggle; the relief of being at the top of the flight was all the more deliciously triumphant. First day actually living on your own and you surpassed the first two labours. 

As you set the boxes down next your door, fumbling with the keys on your key-ring, you failed to notice someone exiting the apartment across the hall from you. They watched with interest as you experimented with each key, recognising you as the new neighbour who almost crushed themselves hauling a mattress up the stairs the day before. They would've offered to help, watching you struggle, but you already had a friend trying to guide the direction at the top.

"It's the brass key," your neighbour finally spoke flatly. 

You jumped out of your skin, dropping the key-ring in your shock. Blessing excrete in response you laughed at yourself and faced the source of the helpful advice. "Sorry, I didn't see you there," you chuckled, getting a fairly long look at the tall, lean man whose broad chest stretched sweatshirt. His eyes burned with an amber glow, giving light to his freckled, pale complexion and raven locks. A distinct, freshly-healed scar marred his right cheek, a startling feature on such an interesting face. You held a hand out to him, introducing yourself.

The man contemplated shaking your hand, and it was a little obvious he was torn between being polite and cold as a rock. He decided on the former; he clasped his hand with yours and gave a firm shake. "Kylo."

It was an oddly familiar name, but nonetheless cool; like a neat twist on the name "Kyle". Sweet, your first neighbour and you were already on good terms with him. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Kylo," you said, letting your hand fall back to your side. You returned to your door, bending down to retrieve your shock-discarded keys. "How long have you lived in the area, Kylo?"

He tentatively surveyed the confidentiality of the information. "Since I was fifteen," he admitted. "The landlord found me on the street and offered me a place to live."

Your heart aching at the tragic story, you gave him a pitiful expression but replaced it with a sympathetic smile. "That's sweet," you commented. You finally pluck the brass key from your key ring and run the lock through with it. Your shoulders sagged with relief hearing the gears shift and turn. "I'm glad we have a landlord like him taking care of people."

He took note of your ignorance. The way you moved, spoke, and even the way your eyes twinkled with mirth... you were practically a child compared to him and the two other residents of this building. You didn't even truly know Snoke, and he doubted you'd actually met him yet. If only you knew you were just a new recruit.

You struggled to lift your cargo, nevermind transport it. You weren't much of a soldier, physically, but you had the energy and glow of a viking. He couldn't help imagining a puny warrior in a horde of buff, violent savages, especially with such a smile as yours. 

"Would you like some help?" he finally offered, albeit reluctantly.

With a relieved groan, you let him lift the heaviest box despite a protest or two. His muscles flexed as he heaved the box up and into the cradle of his arms. You requested he set it down on the kitchen counter as it was the closest surface from the door. Once he set it down he moved back to the door, standing in the arch.

He took the opportunity to eye the details of your apartment. There were more boxes than furniture, but there were probably more plants than boxes. A tree stood in the far corner of the room, seeming almost too big for its pot. Branches splayed itself across the ceiling, and then he realized there were little shards of crystals and small, glowing glass vials dangling from the many limbs. You were earthy, he felt it now. You were so down-to-earth, and by the way you smiled at him, he could tell you caught him taking in your pride. He opted to keeping his distance; you took it that he wanted to be polite. You admired that.

"Thank you, for that and for making my morning," you bowed your head respectfully, still grinning like a sunbeam straight from the sky. 

"I made your morning?" he asked, furrowing his brows at you quizzically.

"You did," you confirmed. "It's always a pleasure meeting someone new, especially if they're generous enough to help out."

Generous. He hadn't been called generous in a long time.

... you were an idiot.

"Sure," he replied passively. He'd let it slide for now. "It was nice meeting you." It wasn't a lie, he did enjoy talking to you. What was a lie was that he wasn't generous, and he took the compliment like a parent taking a distorted hand-craft as a present from their child.

"You too," you grinned. He saw himself out, letting your door gently shut behind him. An icy shiver rolled down your spine, making you quip to yourself, "He was so hot he took the heat with him."

Little did you know, he was still standing outside your door, frozen with his earbuds in his hands. A blush rose to his face at the vocalized personal thought. Hastily marching down the stairs, he ignored the opening of a door to his left by plugging himself into his tunes. He'd jog off this compliment and forget you before he finishes a lap.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you get a visit from Hux, who makes it his mission to learn everything about you with the preparation to do almost anything. Prepare yourselves for a little bit of this devil's charm as he attempts to dissect-- and fail at doing so-- every word you say.

From the open door Kylo neglected stood a pasty man. A cigarette dangled between his plush lips, a cream-white mug situated between his fingers. He tried mocking his upstairs neighbour, but the latter was too distracted by something to care, nevermind notice him. He was offended by the lack of acknowledgement. Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, he took a sip of his bitter coffee, not even wincing at the taste of ashes mixed with the liquid bean-juice. 

As he looked through the long, thin windows framing the building's main entrance, he noticed a peculiar vehicle out front. It wasn't Phasma's, she wouldn't leave her sports car out in the open like that. Kylo's license was revoked for aggressive driving. Hux, himself, wasn't stupid enough to leave his vehicle in the fire route.

Then he recalled the series of annoying grunts and yelling that cost him the newspaper article that was due yester-evening. He was the one to tell you and your weak little friends to hurry the hell up and grow some muscle, and your scruffy-looking friend at the top of the flight called him a grandpa. If it wasn't for the fact he had a deadline, he would've...

He sighed, trudging back into his apartment. Burning out his cigarette and dumping his coffee down his kitchen sink, meeting you was his new resolve. If you managed to get the angriest man on the planet to show more flustered pink than violent red, he was eager to meet Snoke's new recruit.

He trudged up the stairs, straightening his posture and adjusting the suspenders connected to his slacks. Pulling down the wrinkles on his button-up, fixing his hair, he found he looked very appropriate to meet you. He got to your door, cleared his throat and rapped thrice. A muffled voice beyond the way called out. He took the extra second to lick the pads of his forefingers and fleek his eyebrow game.

You swung open the door, hair looking mildly dishevelled. You expected Kylo to have returned, bringing with him his kindness to your front door, but no. Instead, you came face-to-face with a tall red-head with eyes of blue steel. You couldn't help but notice he had a regal handsomeness, much different from Kylo's mature young-adult front. Had this newcomer not showed up adorning a button-up blouse tucked into his trousers complete with matching suspenders and maintained such a stoic sharpness in his silver-cerulean orbs, you might've mistaken him for a college senior.

"Hey!" you greeted warmly, "I take it you're one of my neighbours."

Your glee made his skin tingle as floral essence escaped your new abode, pleasant and elegant to the nose; highly unconventional. He doubted Snoke would just let you live in his building for some silly reason; he saw use for you, potential. Were you a medical botanist? No, a chemist? Maybe you were just an apothecary of sorts Snoke hired to destroy the enemy numbers quicker, especially to even out the playing field since the--

You held out your hand and stated your name, breaking him from thought. He decided to play the charm, see where this could go. He wanted to see how far your limits were, and then he wanted to break them. He took your hand and leaned down, planting a kiss on each of your knuckles. Slyly, he made eye-contact with you, noting the colour rising to your cheeks. You coyly averted your gaze.

"You may call me Hux," he purred. "May I come in?" 

You cleared your throat and stepped aside. He strode in with a dominant swagger, commenting on the loveliness of your botany. He was struck as confused, if not intrigued, at your corner piece arbour. The way the crystals shimmered in the window light struck him as enchanting. 

"Hux?" 

He was snapped out of his stupor by the polite call of your voice. He pivoted to see you peaking out from your kitchen, curiously tilting your head at him. "Would you like a drink?" 

With a false smile, he requested a glass of water. He was going to get answers from you, and if it came to it he didn't want to taste like the proletariat he was; an ashtray doused in liquid caffeine. He reached up to graze his fingers along a vial containing a wine-like substance. If he could pluck it from the branch, he could give it to Phasma to send it off to a professional to test its properties. 

"Does my aesthetic arouse your interest?" you purred playfully, having been watching him from the kitchen doorway with his drink cradled in your hand. 

He was caught a little off-guard, curious hands abandoning the leaves. You extended the glass and he took it with a confident smile. As you joined his side beneath your tree, you watched the vial with a sort of pride. He eyed you as he sniffed the water, only sipping when he deemed it safe. 

"I know it's a little eccentric, but I've always felt at peace in the presence of nature," you admitted to him. "If you're wondering, the most of the liquids are watered-down dollar store paints. The rest are either little trinkets from past memories or shots of booze." You pointed up to the vial he was examining, "That one is wine."

He furrowed his eyebrows at you, "You aren't a drinker, are you?"

You broke into a hearty laughter. "I splurge every few rare occasions or so, but I am not a drinker. I use most of them for cleansing, sometimes for solvents, and the occasional preservative."

Cleaning and preservation, he noted. "So if this is all for your comfort, what do you do for a living?" 

"I'm a worker at the local zoo," you said with split-second pride, but just as drastically your demeanour faltered. "I was studying to be a veterinarian, but, uh... some owners would bring in their pets to be put down just because they don't want them anymore. It... it broke my heart. So I quit my interning job and thought of an alternative."

That hint of medically scientific background explained the stock of ethanol product... for now. He kept it in his mind all the possible uses for such substances, but he'd have to research more later. 

You both seated yourselves at your dining table, conversing back and forth the basics of your lives. You found out he was a columnist for the Naboo Newsblaster, writing stories about crime that he mentioned was inspired by modern events in and out of this war-ridden country. It was truly interesting hearing him ramble on about his work, that you hadn't realized an hour had passed since he showed up until an unfamiliar tune echoed through your semi-hollow apartment.

He grunted with reluctance. He was going to be late for work if he didn't leave now. What was worse was that he realized he learned very little about you and your possible purpose in Snoke's watch. In fact, you turned it all around on him, asking him questions about his life rather than... Damn, you were good.

He stood from his chair and you escorted him to your door, where you opened the gateway for his departing. While you extended your hand again for a kind, neighbourly handshake goodbye, he leaned into you with little regard for your uncertain reaction. Heat rose to your face yet again as he placed a kiss on both cheeks, lingering a little to whisper his farewell in your ear.

"There is a meeting tomorrow evening that this building's primary tenants must attend," he alerted you. "As there are only four of us here, we travel together. I would be more than honoured to help you with the basics, so if you'd like to come to my apartment tomorrow afternoon I can set you up with all you need to know."

You blinked. He seemed awfully inconspicuous about this meeting, yet it sounded of utmost importance. You nodded your head, "I would appreciate that. Is there anything I must know before--"

He planted a third kiss on your cheek, right beside your ear. He was starting to really invade your personal bubble. "Just be dressed and fed," he insisted. With a final farewell, he turned on his heel and disappeared down the flight of stairs. You were dazed by the interaction, only snapping back when a sweat-covered Kylo cleared his throat from across the way.

All you could do was lift your hand and give him a brief smile and wave. You tried to conceal the flusteredness Hux elicited from you, and you didn't do a very good job of hiding it as you shut your door behind you too quickly for normality's sake.

You slumped against the wall, heaving out the air you were holding the entire time his lips were practically at your throat. You crossed to the tree, located a vial with the label "vodka" stretched across most of its circumference, plucked open the cork and downed the bitter shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking around for the second chapter, it is MUCH appreciated. c: Feedback & constructive criticism would be so very, very appreciated. ♥ Have an awesome day/night~!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hux's smugness almost destroy Kylo's attempt at keeping a cool, collected front, but instead gives Kylo the opportunity to learn what Hux couldn't about you.

Outside your door Kylo's fiery glare at Hux was returned with a sly smile. He envied his stupidity-fuelled cockiness, but loathed him for being able to communicate properly with you. You didn't greet the sweat-stained man with the warmth you had earlier in the day; in fact, you didn't even say a word. Hux had to have said something to you that severed your comfort with Kylo.

"What did you say?" he inquired, not making an effort to hide the suspicion. 

Hux slid a carton of cigarettes out from his butt-pocket and expertly took a cancer-stick from its pack. In his freehand was a lighter already igniting the end. He huffed in a build up of chemically-laced nicotine, then huffed it out with his slick answer. "Invited them to the meeting."

"The meeting is about them, you fool," Kylo spat. "Did you not read the newsletter?"

Hux flicked the cigarette at Kylo with his teeth. "Scanned it over." 

Kylo stewed his rage at his equal. Snoke would annihilate him if he ever so much as thought about killing his partner, but luckily for him Hux was going to get a fair punishment for bringing an uninvited guest to his dinner party. Really, it was Hux's own funeral. If he wanted out that badly, he could start here.

"Better talk to Phasma about it first," he suggested, keeping his voice low so you couldn't hear from behind your door. "She won't like stowaways."

"Don't blow a fuse over this insignificance," Hux hushed, waving his hand at Kylo. Before Kylo could make it down the stairs to ground him into a pulp, Hux vanished behind his apartment door with a distinct shift of doorknob gears. 

“Phasma has to meet her new partner somehow,” sounded from within.

Kylo's fist rammed right through the drywall, and he was sure that he would've gone right through to the otherside had it not been for the distinct sound of excited footsteps dashing down the stairs. He drew his hand away and blocked his temper's masterpiece with his back. 

You hadn't noticed he was standing there until the shuffling of feet sounded from your left. His face was beet red, his chest heaving with the heavy intake and exhaling of air. Sweat coated his brow, bringing attention to the small scruff growing on his jawline and upper lip. He looked positively exhausted. 

"You look like you ran for miles," you quipped, taking the moment to look him up and down; he was drenched in his own perspiration. It seemed you forgot about Hux's invasion of your personal space. "Do you need a drink while you take a breather?" 

If he couldn't thrust his anger out on Hux's door, he might as well have let himself simmer in your presence. 

It was a matter of seconds before you'd handed him a glass misted in its freezing temperatures and opted to sitting outside on the front steps of the building. He took the glass and dumped it over his head, spraying you in the process. You laughed hysterically, jesting and trying not to drop the glass once he handed it back to you. It wasn't that funny, you knew, but you felt the delivery of such an action was perfectly timed and executed.

You two sat on the steps as he cooled off. The summer breeze against his soaked skin and clothes must've chilled him to the bone, but he made no sign of discomfort. Afterall, the sun was doing a splendid job drying him off quickly. Kylo ignored your laughter, albeit smiled through the contagious giggling. 

Settling down from your bountiful glee you placed a friendly hand on his shoulder, "Feel better?"

He did, if only a little. He didn't feel like tossing Hux off the Empire State Building anymore, so at least there was that improvement. Your presence wasn't irritating him any further, but it wasn't making him any better either. He pitied you, and he loathed the heart-wrenching sensation such an emotion brought upon him. You were being sucked in, and whatever worth you were to Snoke meant Kylo had more competition for his master's favour. 

Kylo nodded, half-lying to you. A moment of silence passed before he stood up and stretched, then faced you. "Why did you move here?"

The question was abrupt to you, as it had caught you off guard. Truthfully, you had to think it over a moment until you gathered the words for your winning answer. "I wanted a new life," you admitted. Personally, you didn't want to go any further into detail. "My last home was a bad place, full of violence and..."

He lifted an eyebrow at the trailing sentencing, the pity in his heart twisting harder until he felt the need to physically cringe. You walked out one hellhole and plunged head-first into another. The worst part? You haven't even realized it yet. 

"How did you meet Snoke?" he pressed on.

You told him you were searching for a new job, and a new home. You'd been rooming with your friend, who you had no idea was involved in some sort of terrorist war between a fascist regime and your companion's freedom-fighter organization. Both masses were huge, ground-shaking, and often times you got sucked in and were forced to harbour mercenaries while police tore your apartment a part bit-by-bit. There'd be times when you were forced into handcuffs for association, interrogated for hours, and after days of lying you would be finally released from custody. 

Your family abandoned you for it. Any job you had would eventually find out and fire you. And what was worse was that you weren't even a part of this war, you didn't even really know what it was about or who was really involved in it. 

Because you wanted a clean slate, it became your resolve to save enough money up to live in your own apartment far from this war as you possibly could. 

"Snoke found my advertisement in the newspaper, and introduced himself as a landlord of many apartments in and around the country," you added. "He looked over my papers, asked a couple questions, and eventually I had to tell him about my history with the war. He was so kind to me, and instantly he offered the apartment to me. To me he's a saviour, taking a chance on me like this."

Kylo listened attentively, indifference washing over him as you praised your lord for the wrong reason. However, Kylo was no different. He was a streetrat, having run away from an emotionally abusive home. His mother was his idol, his everything, but to him his father was a worthless sack of... they were both with the Resistance, quarrelling with politics in a much more physical manner. His father wanted nothing of it, which led to too many arguments. Kylo, then called Ben Solo, would spend weeks with his Uncle Luke, who taught him many important things about life, about patience, and about those around him. When he wasn't hiding from his home, he was with Luke and his father's old hound, Chewbacca. 

Then one day, he snapped. He made one too many horrible decisions, and hid himself in the alleyways of the city when Snoke found him covered in dirt and snow. He listened, and he manipulated, making promises of triumph and honour through dark words. And Kylo fell for it, taking the offer to live in his guardianship, where he met Hux and Phasma. Snoke shaped them through violence, through aggression. Kylo's infamous temper that repelled many of his Uncle's students became unbridled, and Hux, once a little punk kid living in his father's success, turned into that of a tyrannical overseer of Snoke's doings, surpassing his father's achievements and creating his own pride. Phasma just grew strong and athletic, becoming the top drone of Snoke's unwavering army, whom of which she trained.

This new life Kylo took as a pathetic fifteen year old child, it was a contract for his lifetime. Until he died, he would be Snoke's lapdog and voice of punishment-- his assassin, so you should say. Still to this day, he lived off Snoke's pension and occasional generosity. At least Hux made his due by journalism, and Phasma by her pay as a personal trainer. 

He didn't even know what you did, but he didn't doubt you had a job down-pat.  
He wondered if it had anything to do with that tree of yours.

"You would know," you murmured, "He did get you off the streets, afterall." 

Would he go back to that soul-sucking place your parents thought was an appropriate home...? How could he even look his mother in the eye after what he did? What would she say? Would she even let him come home... if he wanted to, at least? He didn't know the answer to that question, and really, he didn't want to know. He just had to keep his loyalty to Snoke to keep himself safe.

He would do so at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the read~! Hope everyone's still enjoying this. Feedback of all kinds is much appreciated and welcome. ♥ Have an awesome day/night~!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the panicked waiting of a phone call, you mistake a hooded figure in black trying to return to his apartment as a knock on your door. Phasma meets your unconscious form and aids Hux and Kylo in the unveiling of your personnel, only to be met with the harsh reality that you're simply another refuge in the war that tore the nation apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2//25/2016: Brought to my attention by Robotnoy, there was a trigger warning I completely neglected in this chapter and as a result it has turned off a selection of my readers. For those who may be offended by the trigger, I am so sorry and I must assure you the view is not my own in any way, it is just my headcanon for Hux. 
> 
> TW: Ableist!Hux and 1 Ableist Slur.
> 
> Special thank you to Robotnoy for alerting me, and again I give you my sincerest apologies. <3

The sunset casted shadows over your window, which was a bit of a shame. It was your favourite time of day, where the hues above were painted with the strokes of dead artists and the diamonds of the night twinkled in the dimmed sky light. The sun would be a beautiful colour, and by the violet-red shades dancing among the ash-grey clouds it must've resembled a ruby.

But alas, you couldn't see it and it broke your heart just a little. 

Your apartment wasn't totally cleaned and organized yet. Boxes were shoved into the corner of your bedroom, stacked on each other 'til they touched the ceiling. They were full of clothes and small things from the past, memorabilia if you would. A garbage bag full of discarded protective paper laid on its side next to your door, leaving a trail of trash.

You sat on your bed, wrapped up in a cocoon of your own blankets and comforters. You were trying to get a hold of your former room-mate on your cell phone, a little worried about them. They told you they would give you a call around seven to check up on you and tell you about their mission, like they always had. Nine o'clock was rolling around, and you've tried calling at least ten times and sent at least quadruple the texts.

You were worried beyond your mind's comprehension. Your heart raced and your eyes threatened tears; on the edge of a colossal panic attack and you couldn't contact anyone else. The likelihood your other friends weren't on the same mission was second to none. There was the temptation to go back and see for yourself what's happening but you didn't want to rush back into no-man's land and find yourself back in a prison cell for association and withholding information from the law.

You pulled yourself closer, nuzzling the bedsheets. You needed closure, you needed comfort. 

As a tear slipped down your cheek a faint knock came to your front door. Your heart stopped at the unexpected visitor and while you would've regularly ignored visits during your bouts of despair you didn't want to brush your neighbours off and rub them the wrong way so soon. You frantically wiped away the tear and jumped out of your cocoon.

A second, frantic knock sounded as you let your bedroom shut with a gentle click. You scrambled to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it with a smile that was soon wiped off your lips.

The knock wasn't supposed to be a knock, you found, as Kylo had been trying to shove his key in his own lock. He was cloaked in black from head to toe. His shoulders were tense through his obsidian leather jacket, and the huffing of his deep, shallow breaths could be heard. His entire being was absolutely vapid.

"Kylo?" 

When he turned you flinched. His face was shrouded in an unholy mask that shimmered in the dim, candescant light of the hallway. In the corner of your eye you spotted the knife strapped to his left hip, and a holstered firearm on his right. He was drenched in something, and he dragged it in the building with him. Taking a close look to the trail, you caught the unnerving red tint it bared. A nose-wrinkling scent wafted into your nose.

Blood.

Beneath his mask, Kylo's eyes locked on yours. He was bathed in blood, showered in it. It was a frequent occurrence for Kylo to be walking in like this, but he was on edge. Only two per cent of the blood that he was coated in was his, and it was from a papercut. He was trying his best to be quiet, to spare you of the truth while you could still be innocent. He was so upset with himself that he forgot he locked his door and he couldn't even get his key in the goddamned lock.

The horror in your eyes twisted his arteries, then pulled them down with your fainting body. He lunged to catch you, but you landed face-first in the excess. He cursed at himself as he picked you up off the ground and slung your arm over his shoulder.

He yelled for Hux and Phasma, Hux being the one to tell Kylo to bug off until Phasma busted in and grabbed him from his office. Hux grimaced at the blood, Phasma not questioning a single thing. Phasma didn't recognize the vegetable half-clinging half-slipping from his shoulders, but took you off Kylo's hands as he fumbled for the keys. 

"You are such a vile slob, Ren," Hux commented, grabbing the keys from Kylo's hands and quickly opening the door for Phasma to rush you in. "You couldn't do your work with poison, could you?"

Kylo let out a sharp growl, practically ripping off his helmet and throwing it on the end table by the door. "Do not test me right now," he bellowed, "Snoke insisted I make the most of my temper, and I will do so accordingly."

Hux wrinkled his nose. He lifted your ankles so Phasma could lay you on the couch in a comfortable position. She started spouting orders to both men, but Kylo's indifference to the situation was as evident as the slamming bathroom door. Hux objected, but with persuasion she convinced him to locate a new shirt for the unconscious while she wiped off the blood. 

Phasma was left in near silence with a dish cloth and a bowl of water, cleansing your skin to the sound of Kylo's running shower. She raked over your form and took in her new partner. You weren't disappointing, but you weren't impressive. She'd train many men and women and gave them the physiques of Spartan hoplites, so any human being at this point was less than impressive. If anything was felt towards you, it was hope that you would be easy to work with.

Hux was grumbling out a vicious profanity as he tossed the new top on the back of the Charleston. "Why are we cleaning up his mess?" he groaned, observing Phasma's work with reluctance. "Ren is a grown man. If he can't clean but he can kill then he's no less valuable than a retarded child."

Phasma chided him for his ableism, returning his insult addressed to Kylo with a sharp, deadly glare. If looks could kill, Hux would've been eradicated. Where Hux had his individuality from Snoke, Phasma could only wish to have her position in her own home be more than the boys' nanny and apparent housekeeper. Outside, she was a respected woman and military advisor appointed directly from Snoke. When she wasn't hunting Resistance with her Stormtroopers, she was a personal trainer at the local gym.

She really shouldn't have to deal with a thirty-some-odd-year-old manchild and a self-entitled journalist like Hux. They all got similar upbringings, they are all equal in this godforsaken war.

"Ren is your partner, Hux," Phasma reasoned coldly. "You are supposed to look out for your partner, not constantly be at each other's throats." Gesturing to you, she continued in a lecture, "We are a team under Snoke's command, we are the most powerful branch below him. Whatever our newest's purpose is, we still look after them as well as it is our duty and our courtesy to maintain order and equality among us four."

Hux let out a heavy sigh, his expression detesting her speech but his eyes evidently considering every word. He travelled into the kitchen and grabbed a second cloth, mentioning his hate for how she was always right. 

In a matter of time, the two managed to clear your complexion of any blood and dirt collected in your fall. Hux held your arms over your head as Phasma replaced your top and further examined your appearance for any missed specks. A question crossed between them: who exactly were you and what did Snoke plan for you? Hux brought up your tree as a discussion point and addressed your career choices, but stopped as that was all he knew.

"Perhaps a concoctionist," Phasma hypothesized, piecing together the pieces. "Think about it. Studying a type of medical practice is a physical scientific field to go into. If one is truly that fond of botany, they are more than likely to experiment with essence and combinations. You said there's alcohol hanging from the branches?"

"Labelled right on each vial," he confirmed. "Ethanol is a cleaning product, isn't it?"

"It's also capable of producing drugs and certain perfumes, like chloroform," Phasma smirked. She picked up the bowl and the cloths and strode confidently into the kitchen. She was a little excited now to actually meet you. In her lifetime not once had she met a venomist, or someone remotely capable of producing a toxin. What parts of her that weren't impressed were now swollen with wonder and curiosity. 

"It would be the best explanation as to why Snoke hired them," Hux vocalized.

Kylo had exited the bathroom moments before, dripping in his bedroom doorway as he listened in to the conversation. He was just as interested in whoever you were, so in this particular subject he felt inclined to retrieve as much information as possible. Though, the use of the word "hire" wasn't right, and it irked him. Not enough to send him back into a fit, but it was an irritant. 

"They weren't hired," he finally spoke up, leaning out from his doorway. Phasma's head snapped down as quickly as it snapped up, as Kylo was standing in only a towel and nothing more. "Snoke drafted them and they don't even know it. They had former ties to the Resistance; their former room-mates were honorary members who dragged them into the war. They only moved here to get away from that, but Snoke's hooked them back in."

Phasma and Hux drew silent, letting the information rinse them down. Hux glanced over to your unconscious form, and rubbed the bridge of his nose in the irritation that you trusted Snoke's butcher more with your backstory than you did the organizer of an entire army. Phasma quietly wrung the cloths of their crimson collections and hung them over the sink nozzle. Kylo clenched his jaw as he carried on into his room to prepare himself for the few hours of sleep his insomnia would let him get.

You were going to find out your new fate eventually, it was bound to happen whether you liked it or not, whether any of them liked it or not. And with your expertise and potential, Snoke was going to use you for everything you got.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little nervous with this chapter, but I think it turned out A-OK. c: Feedback & constructive riticism is very much appreciated~! ♥ Hope you are all well, my lovelies!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally get a call from your former roomie, none other than Poe Dameron himself. He, a passionate pilot for the X-Wing Airlines, lets you know what happened on the mission and assures you that everyone is fine. He gives the hint that a flight to Berlin will render BB-8 alone, and you decide to give the pup some company lest there be some property damage. Kylo is shocked that you had completely forgotten the ordeal from the night before, and curiously he follows you to the place you used to call "Home".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which BB-8 is an adorable puppy, Kylo's an insomniac, and Poe is still a pilot.

Your heart jolted awake at the distinct ringtone blaring next to your ear. 

Your mind was slow to comprehend your surroundings; sunlight shone in through the window and illuminated your room with a heavenly glow. A stale taste in your mouth elicited a displeased twitch from your stiff tongue as you rose on your elbows. Your face felt... crusty, for lack of betters words, like you'd been crying in your sleep.

You must've cried yourself to sleep last night and not realized it. You could've sworn you didn't go to sleep... in fact, you remembered answering your door and...

Your blood curdled recalling the black-clad figure forcing its way into Kylo's apartment. It must've been a dream. It had to have been a dream. It was just your brain screwing with you and acting on your worst possible fears. Death visited you in your dreams and told you to sleep on it. That's all. Nothing new.

Your fingers reached all around you, splaying over the bedsheets as your grabbed for your vibrating phone. Once you got a grasp, you answered the call with a groggy grumble, "Hello?"

"Finally, you picked up," the cocky voice on the other end baffled. "Don't you know I've been trying to return your call all night?"

Your heart leapt into your throat, catching a profane phrase you threatened to utter in a strangled cough. You manage to hurl the angry profanity at him, "I finally picked up?! Don't you know what a fucking heart attack you gave me? I thought you died. I thought you were severely hurt. I thought you were kidnapped, and then, and then..." You broke into frustrated tears, trying your hardest not to cry at him. "You're an ass, Poe."

"Settle, settle," he soothed, that deep tone of his working its magic and calming down your boiling blood. "The mission hit a couple complications, that's it. The police did a raid on the building again and took Cryic, Wilson, and Rhierson, but they should be back by next week."

You rubbed half your face with your free hand, a low growl in your voice. You hated the police raids. You'd been captured countless times, and each occasion was the same. Weeks of interrogation, regulated gruel they called food, a new bruise here and there, and the same half-lie over and over: "I'm a botanist studying animal medicine, even if I did know how to make chloroform do you think I'd risk my future hurting people?"

"You're okay though, right?" you sighed.

"Of course, toots," he chuckled with a purr. "Rey is fine, Finn is fine, and BB-8 is missing you. You should come back and play with him." 

Just for that adorable Australian sheep dog, you'd shackle yourself to the old apartment and learn how to play fetch with your feet. He was a sassy pup and practically Poe's shadow, and had been straight from day one. 

Poe had come to pick you up from work at the vet and on the way out you two heard the pitiful whimper of a dog just around the corner. It didn't have a collar, nor did it look like it had anywhere to go. Both you and Poe searched the area for its family, and you stumbled upon a box full of five-week old dogs next to a dying mother. The two of you brought all the dogs to the vet, and after euthanizing the mother and sparing her from her fatal heart attack, the vet decided to take care of the dogs until they were ready to be adopted.

All of the puppies got their collars and tags, each numbering them up. By the time they were all adopted, the eighth puppy-- the runt-- was left. You couldn't resist those sad little eyes as his family slowly left, one by one. So, without really thinking, you took him home and Poe instantly fell in love with him. Poe liked the ring of "Baby Eight", and so, BB-8 was what went on his tags. While BB-8 was supposed to be your dog, Poe grew much more attached to him than you ever could. It was cute, so you told him you'd visit every chance you got and play with him.

"How's the solo apartment life?" Poe asked on the other end. "Lonely? Boring?"

You smiled, wiping a tear from your eye. You told him about your new neighbours, and how you still had yet to meet your third and final fellow resident. You told him about Hux and how he was being especially... chummy, with you. Poe, being the brotherly figure you'd always needed in your life, asked if you needed some guardianship. You rejected humbly.

"There's a guy here named Kylo," you told him, falling back on your bed and looking out the window. The sunshine was amorous and romantic, full of glee and hope. It made you feel warm and fuzzy, like everything would be fine from this day on. "He's pretty nice. He's quiet and well reserved, but yesterday he punched a hole in a wall on the first floor. By the huge scar on this guy's face, it's almost as if he's gotten in trouble for his temper."

There was a long, mildly uncomfortable silence. You would've been uncomfortable, had your fatigue backed off.

"Anger issues, you think?" 

"That or he and Hux are enemies of sorts," you jested, turning onto your stomach like a lazy domestic cat. You nuzzled your cheek into the mattress, enjoying the comfort of the cushion. "But, I think I'll be fine here. Nice neighbours, beautiful morning light, and there's a pizza parlour just down the street. You have to visit someday, and bring Baby Eight."

"Your landlord allows pets?" Poe inquired, sounding pretty surprised by this revelation.

You hummed uncertainty. "I'll have to check in with him. But if pets are allowed, you're bringing him."

With a laugh, he announced he had to take off for his shift at the airport and wouldn't be back for at least another day. It was a regular occurrence, as he was a pilot when he wasn't a rebel. He promised to call the moment he was back from Berlin, and asked if you would stop by later in the day to check up on BB-8, to which you accepted whole-heartedly. Wishing him safe travels, you hung up and got ready for the day.

A fresh shower, a wholesome breakfast, and a few unpacked boxes later you noticed it was a few minutes past eleven. BB-8 must've been lonely without Poe, and with Poe's luck had probably managed to dial Finn or Rey, or maybe even 911. That little rapscallion had probably torn up the sofa cushions in protest, now that you thought about it.

You grabbed your sweater and slapped on your shoes on the way out the door, snatching the keys from the kitchen counter. However, grabbing the doorknob you hesitated. Your heart dropped a few floors until its elevator crashed into the pit of your stomach. Your dream still unsettled your nerves and left a bad, nauseating taste in your mouth.

It was as if your body was convinced the dream was reality, and that the bloodied shadow would still be in the hallway with that sinister mask drilling holes through your soul. It was as if your nose still detected blood lingering from beyond your door. 

You're being ridiculous, you chide at yourself, shaking your head. To fully convince yourself you fling the door open and move to step outside when you practically run head first into a black figure standing right outside your doorway.

For the third time that morning, you almost had a heart attack. First time you felt like hurling, though, until you realized it was just Kylo and not the masked beast you envisioned the night before. You let out some nervous laughter, much to his confusion. 

Did you not remember? How couldn't you remember when all he could fear was seeing that look of pure horror flash across your eyes, followed by the glazing of unconsciousness that then propelled you to the gruesome pool.

"Morning Kylo!" you chimed, locking your door. "What can I do you for?"

Truthfully, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he wanted to come and apologise and explain what had happened and why it had happened. He was ready to reveal the truth to you, and if worse came to worse he was going to break you further and shape you into the tool Snoke saw you to be. Not that he couldn't bare to see you fail, he just didn't want weight dragging him or Phasma down-- he could care less about Hux.

"Checking on you," he hummed, half-lying. "I..." he stammered, trying to think of a good reason. He was a horrible liar, he knew. "I heard crying last night."

Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment; so that is what happened, you thought. You must've been really worked up over the idea of Poe, Rey, or Finn dying that you passed out while crying. 

You stuttered, pulling your key out of the now-locked door. "My ex-room-mate went on a mission last night and promised to give me a call around seven, and he didn't. It was a panic attack, and I didn't want to bother you or anyone else. I'm really sorry if I still bothered you."

Kylo furrowed his eyebrows a little in confusion. Did you actually think that happened? You must've hit your head in the fall. He shook his head, "As long as you're fine."

You smiled, the warmth of the sunrise returning to the center of your heart. It was touching knowing there was someone looking out for you right across the hall. You rubbed the back of your neck humbly. "You're a nice guy, Kylo," you beamed, not sensing the irritation that rained acid down his spine. "Hey, are you busy right now?"

He wasn't really. He was considering a jog or going to the gym, but he really wasn't busy. Despite how irritated with you he'd become, he figured he'd play along with whatever you have planned. "What do you have in mind?" 

He followed you out of the building and to your car, you explaining the phone call you had finished with Poe. "I'm off to visit our dog and make sure he hasn't destroyed anything in the couple of hours Poe has been gone," you chuckled. "Only if you want to, you can come with me. I'll treat you to a coffee on our way there."

His insomnia swooned at the mention of coffee, swaying him to take up your offer. 

He towered in the passenger seat of the car, barely being tall enough to fit comfortably. His head grazed the ceiling and his knees hit the dashboard. With amusement, you direct him to the seat adjusters, to which he used to his advantage. By the time he had finally gotten comfortable you bought beverages from a coffee-shop drive-through.

"So tell me about yourself, Kylo," you entreated, pulling back into traffic. He grunted questionably, as if asking what you would like to know or why even. "I feel like I should get to know my neighbours. I told you about myself yesterday, if not some small stuff. Not that it's a favour to return, but I'm interested in you. Tell me about anything, your hobbies, your career, your family, your--"

"I have no family," he intercepted sourly, silencing you with awkward vibes. You kept quiet, feeling as though you hit a nerve. Kylo sensed the sudden tension to his left, and was soon hounded by guilt. He didn't want that kind of a reaction, the fear. With a breathless sigh, two blocks later, he elaborated. "My upbringing before Snoke was toxic and pitiful. My father was never home and whenever he was my mother would waste hours arguing with him. There was a lot of neglect, so I visited my uncle often, who was an at-home mentor of spiritual practices. Meditation, Tai Chi, he was your average hippy. 

"His students were the worst, though, and he did nothing about it. He never did anything about the people who tormented me and picked on me. One day, I had enough. I was a fifteen year old kid who was ready to die. It caused me trouble, and I got into a fist-fight with another student, and the others came to his defence and..." he trailed off, scanning you from the corner of his eye. Was it appropriate to tell you, the apothecary? The creator of poisons and chemicals capable of paralysis... or perhaps worse?

On your end, your heart was shattering with every word he spoke. You could see why he was so reserved. He had trust issues and he must've suffered from some mental illness, if not he still was suffering. Taking your right hand off the "three" position on the wheel, you laced your fingers with his hand on the inner console, giving his hand a light, comforting squeeze. 

"You don't have to tell me, I understand how difficult it may be to tell me," you muttered, kindness leaking through your teeth. You ran your thumb over his knuckles, unaware of the shivers you sent up his spine. Your hand was warm on his bare weapon, the same weapon that has probably killed myriads of people. His blood ran cold with the cruel hatred he felt for your action, but his remorse refused to let him take his hand away. It was comforting, but he didn't need your pathos. 

Once you took your hand back to keep maximum control of the car, he slowly slid his hand into his lap and recreated the motion with his thumb gliding over his fist. He missed the fact you noticed, obliviously pondering why you were smiling a few blocks later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh~! Sorry for the late update. The new semester started and I'm a bit of an anxious trashcan (so I'm already a little stressed). I would very much appreciate some feedback or constructive criticism! Stay awesome, everyone~! ♥


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Resistance territory, you and Kylo keep a very playful BB-8 company. Kylo's inability to relax is merely emphasized when the two of you run into the cheery Rey, and an world-shattering revelation rattles your trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which BB-8 is actually a messenger hound who carried a section of a map on his collar before the events of this fic. Kylo recognizes him because of his collar, which is a subtle reference to said events (but isn't quite explained).
> 
> In which there was told to be a huge dog that used to comfort the shit out of youngster Ben before Ben became the pile of trash we know and love as Kylo Ren. (said dog was originally going to be Chewbacca, but plotholes would make things difficult).

"BB-8!" you cheered, opening the door to your former abode. A distinct bark hit your ears just as quickly as the delighted excitement of stomping paws across the carpeted floor. You crouched down on the floor, arms open to the gleeful, large dog bolting your way with tongue flapping in the wind. He collided into your chest, hard enough to send you back onto your back. The pooch assaulted your face with countless licks and kisses, patting and crushing your chest under his weight. 

In the doorway, which you and BB-8 blocked, Kylo awkwardly watched the ordeal. He felt out of place in this building, terribly unwelcome; he swore he saw eyes swelling out of the walls, blinking and following his every movement. He was so far into enemy territory, he was certain he could be shot any second. 

"BB! BB!" you giggled out painfully, now groaning and trying to lift the dog off you. In a last resort, you pressed on his nose with the pads of your palm, which got the reaction you wished. BB-8 backed off with a breathy grin, stealing another kiss off of you before realizing there was another visitor. His attitude changed with a sharp turn.

BB-8 snarled cautiously, the fur on the back of his neck stood right up in defence. His ears pinned back and his teeth showed to Kylo's dark form, to which Kylo backed up, finding more comfort behind the wall than in the open. He thought the dog's name was distinctly familiar, BB-8, but he wasn't exactly certain until he caught sight of the hound's orange collar and white tags.

His right hand slowly reached behind him, hand gliding beneath his jacket to grip the switchblade duct-taped to the leather coat's interior. The leathery tips of his digits grazed the pommel when you reprimanded BB-8 for his aggressiveness, trying to settle the dog down. 

"If you just hold your hand out to him, Kylo, he'll be able to get a whiff of your scent," you encourage, reaching for his large fingers. He flashed reluctance, but gave in to your command as he trusted your word. Slyly removing his hand from his back, he held it out for you to take it. He was keen of the way you stinted the dog's growling by simply murmuring praises and words of reassurance, as well as scratching him behind those big ears. BB-8's nose wiggled as he sniffed, his breezy breath fanning over Kylo's fingers admonishingly.

After a moment, BB-8 retreated from Kylo with a distasteful grunt, as though insulting the tall figure. To him, Kylo wasn't welcome but if he was with you BB-8 supposed he could tolerate him. Similar thoughts about the pilot's mutt crossed over the human male's mind. 

As BB-8 galloped off to his couch and grabbed a toy to chew, you made to move back up. The only issue was that your waving hand trying to catch the doorknob as leverage never located the brass handle, and as you fell back to the ground Kylo reached out to stabilise you, only able to grab your shoulder as you snatched a handful of his coat. Without intention you took him down with you in a loud thud and cried out apology. 

When you regained your bearings, trying to envision the best position possible to smoothly slide out from beneath him, you paused and absorbed the sight above you. Kylo's fluffed, curly mane fell over his face in a curtain, framing his contorting expression of confusion and disdain just for your view. His knee was grinding-- without conscious knowledge-- into your pelvic region from between your thighs, and the constant movement between the two of you made it terribly difficult to avoid stirring some awkward stimulation. His chest heaved against yours; in realisation, he reclined back on his knees.

With the lamplight casting a shadow over you from behind him, he looked positively godly as he ran a hand through his raven locks. You elevated to your elbows, trying to ignore the intensity of his attractive appearance as you carefully shuffled yourself out from beneath them. You repeated your apology, frantically, asking him if he was fine. 

He raised a hand, quietly silencing you as he got to his feet. With the same hand, he extended it to you. You blinked in question, then let him haul you up safely. With a slight colour to your cheeks, you thanked him, brushing some dirt from his shoulder as a way to emphasise your gratitude. He nodded.

You move out into the living room, finding BB-8 gnawing passionately on an abstract looking ball that squished and activated a glowing ball within its rubber shell with every bite. His tail swished at the sight of you, and you swore you saw those hazel eyes twinkle at you with a mischievous idea. 

You told Kylo the story about how you found BB-8, all the while tossing the latter's toy of choice in every which way. Kylo seemed to be listening, his vigil on BB-8's constantly moving form maintaining the assassin's interest with his playful demeanour. 

Kylo's mind was worked up, unable to focus and concentrate on a single, sole subject. He was so... angry. Not because of what happened in the hall, but because of you. You were so full of potential, so full of the knowledge the First Order had been searching for; internal affairs, residents of the Resistance, and he was sure there was so much more you were hiding. He'd only known you for two days and already you'd become the accidental bane of his existence; all you wanted, afterall, was a safe haven to call home.

Where Kylo would be all around glad to just crush your hopes and spirits like all the neighbours before you, you had to have stolen a part of sun as you always wore such a brightness about yourself. Compared to Kylo, you were a saviour in the name of optimism and joy and you savoured every last moment you felt content. You were a mere puppy, and Snoke was ready to throw you out into the battlefield you were desperately running from.

He needed to bring up the matter before the meeting tonight, since Hux was all for bringing you to the meeting and letting you find out that way. He wasn't the best person to bring it up lightly. The best he could probably to soften the blow was say, "Hey, I killed my uncle's students and today I'm a murderer. With your skill you will end up being a murderer too! Let's go get ice-cream and drizzle it in the blood of Snoke's enemies."

BB-8 trotted up to you, waving his toy in the air before changing his mind and handing it off to Kylo. The dog's warm eyes stared at him expectedly, silently requesting that Kylo tosses his toy and play with him too. You watched amusedly as the two brown-eyed boys noiselessly communicated, and stifled a giggle when Kylo gave in and tossed the ball down the hall.

"Do you know what the policy for pets is?" you queried.

Kylo gave you a dead gaze; you had to be kidding.

Snoke never really discussed the idea of pets with any of them three. Snoke was aware of Kylo's attachment to canines, but never thought much of it. If anything, he ignored it and never mentioned it. With that in mind, technically there really wasn't any rule against animal companionship. 

He missed having a dog. The dog had to be dead by now, for he would've bested Kylo's thirty years. He remembered the nights he couldn't sleep because he could hear his mom crying down the hall, his bedroom door cracked open a little so his furry guardian could come to his emotional rescue. He remembered waking up to the large mass of the pooch crushing him under the heavy fluff, suffocating in the bushy fur and laughing until he could get him off.

He never once considered getting another dog, not with the memories he cherished. He didn't think a dog could handle his lifestyle-- not with the temper he was cursed with. He was surprised how long he lasted with your obnoxiously good attitude about every little thing, but then again...

No. You reminded him of Ben.

BB-8 trotted elegantly in front of you two, navigating to the building exit. You had to keep pace to Kylo's extended strides, restraining the need to tell him to slow down. Even with the box of BB-8's belongings, he was able to best a hare at a race simply by sustaining that swift, precise step rhythm. You insisted you carried it, but he was persistent-- now you realized he was probably intentionally trying to slow himself down for you.

Something was off about him, compared to the day before. He was stiff, silent unless spoken to, a little more awkward than your first meeting. You wondered if you were intimidating him with your wish of friendship-- afterall, Kylo was practically the polar opposite of Hux's social butterfly. Kylo was secluded and rathered loneliness, yet he was giving you a chance. You wondered if he did that with everyone.

"I'm sorry if I hit a nerve in the car," you uttered. 

The very apology knocked Kylo's footing off beat and his shoes stuttered against the carpet floor. He quit his advance and turned to you, unaware of the sheen of sweat formed on his temples. Something was wrong, he was just trying to conceal it from you. 

He refused your apology with a shake of his head, "Don't."

It was something you did. You felt small compared to his towering figure, unsure of what to do or say. You held yourself together with a straight posture, careful to follow at a distance. The words tumbled through the cogs of thought, too feeble to portray as they'd crumble and crush between the spokes. 

A door behind you closed, followed by a familiar, welcoming voice calling your name with surprise. 

"Rey!" you practically shrieked with excitement. 

Kylo's shoulders became unbreakable stone at the name. His scar twitched in remembrance, of the only person he couldn't kill, his failed target, the wrecker of his features... the only target to know what he looks like. He shouldn't have come here, he should've just said he was busy. He should've said "no" and left it at that.

If you were going to find out what was happening, you might as well find out this way. 

Rey whispered your name in your ear, her initial sweet chime a whisper on the still, suffocating air. You sensed the rifting atmosphere, waves of a storm cresting in and out of the invisible shoreline. The riptide formed, readying itself for a tsunami, and it was tugging you in unfairly.

Rey pulled you behind her and stepped out, her body rigid with defense. If she were a fortress, she'd shield an entire continent. You protested in confusion until she cut you off, "Why is he with you?" 

You blanked, "I'm sorry?"

"Why are you with him?" she repeated, gritting her teeth. 

You furrowed your eyebrows, your chest clinching. If he wasn't mad already, he was going to be. The look on his face insisted the very insinuation, and you were sure you saw his scar shift as though uncomfortable. BB-8 nudged your knee, as though he felt your insecurity. The tension was unbearable. 

Rey hushed your name, the mere hoarseness within that protective purr punching you in the gut. She prompted an answer with demand, losing the feel of a guardian and taking on the feeling of a commander instead. You told her he was your neighbour, and that he had accompanied you by your request and--

"He's First Order. He's Kylo Ren."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gAHHHHH CLIFFHANGER
> 
> Sorry to put you guys on this rope of anticipation~!! I hope to update tomorrow, just to spare you all of the painful bouts of thought that would probably put a kink in the rolling cogs of future sleep. 
> 
> (also please excuse any obvious errors I may have missed I'm doing this from a mobile device and the browser set up is so weird and awkward omg)
> 
> Feedback & Constructive Criticism is so very welcome c: I hope you all are doing fabulously~!! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your hopes and dreams of finding peace in this war-struck world crumbling around you, the puzzle pieces are starting to come together. Despite all the secrets being revealed to you, there are plenty of your own left to uncover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Chewbacca cries over the death of his best friend and you break Kylo Ren's nose, get into a brawl with him, and you survive. This chapter, extra lengthy, is full of angst, sorrow, and stress.

You opened your mouth to retaliate, to defend him, until the realisation hit you like a sack of bricks. You lapped for words, for resolution. The churning in your pained gut threatened to hork up burning gasoline as you fumbled for a grasp on reality. You could grunt and groan, but you couldn't form actual words. Nothing you could verbally conjure would be coherent-- not even your thoughts were coherent.

"He's the assassin who tried to kill Finn and I," she elaborated further. Her fist hovered by the wall, ready to bang the warning to the rest of the Resistance living within the building. "He's the one who put Finn in the hospital and killed--"

"Han Solo," Kylo exposed, yet the expression of painful savouring on his face conflicted with his tone in the sense he looked like he'd been mourning rather than chewing glass like his baritone insisted. Kylo's bronze orbs flickered with darkness, as though being shadowed by the very overcast of turmoil that tugged on you earlier. His hands balled into fists as he set down the box of puppy property; BB-8 jolted to grab the box but you held him back by the leash.

Your heart dropped; you swore you heard it hit the carpeted floor and roll to his feet. His expression was enough to just stomp on it and ultimately end you-- as if the rest of his treachery wouldn't be enough. The pain he's caused, the unrepairable trauma he's thrust unto the lives of innocent people, the... the...

You remembered the memorial and the news reporters swarming the street searching for Resistance to interview. You remembered the pathetic fallacy; the rain pouring down upon everyone at the funeral, starting with the gentle kisses of waterdrops landing on your bare hands. You remembered holding Rey, the tears that stained your mourning robes as she repeated over and over again that she could've done something. You remembered the pain in everyone's eyes-- the only person who trumped General Organa's agonised lamenting was the wails of Han Solo's partner, the burly, hairy man whose name you didn't know. 

You remembered sitting in Finn's hospital room, trying to calm Poe down as he wept over his incapacitated brother-in-arms. You remembered having to lock your cabinet of medical wares with a chain and padlock after being attacked both verbally and physically for poisons, each assaulter begging for their own demise. You remembered the white noise of solemn silence during the victorious celebration over the decimation of thousands of people, both over the devastation of the Solo betrayal and the realisation of how much death has clouded their purpose. You remembered the rumours snaking at everyone's feet that festival, hissing that some members of Resistance were giving themselves up to the police or the First Order, giving information like hopeless pawns. 

Your only concern during those times were over those affected by the war. You couldn't help but wonder how many families were wiped out, how many loved ones were unfairly taken because of politics, how many people had to die to get to that single moment of remorseful triumph. Through it all, you had wondered whether or not General Organa was alright, as you hadn't heard anything from her or about her since festival when she thanked you for your collaboration during the fateful mission.

You even though you had been present in the destruction that spanned across the entire nation, you hadn't known the Han Solo was run through on the blade of the Commander Kylo Ren, the runaway son of the deceased hero and General Organa.

The same son who turned on his family, slaughtered his uncle's students with his bare hands and defected to the enemy, the First Order. 

The Grim Reaper who trailed pools of blood through your apartment building wasn't a figment of a dream. You didn't pass out from crying over fear of Poe's death. It explained why you didn't remember pouring your tears out to the world. It explained why Kylo showed up to your door, and--

You couldn't speak. You wanted to say something, you really did. You wanted him to object and tell her how wrong she was, that she had confused him with someone else. You wanted this to be a lie-- no, you wanted to be naïve and be lied to. You wanted him to tell you everything was fine and that nothing was wrong, even if the truth was the exact opposite. 

"You're not Resistance anymore, apothecary," Kylo's deep voice reached into your being and strangled your soul. "Didn't you want to drop all ties with them? Didn't you want to be cared for instead of used for housing and hosting guests you didn't even know?"

"Stop it," you mutely ordered, unable to get your volume above a whisper.

"Did Snoke neglect to tell you the moment you agreed to move in you were one of his worthless little servants doing all his dirty work?" Kylo's fiery tone rang through your mind, ricocheting off the hollow walls of your skull. You uttered a command to shut him up, but he relented, lifelessly laughing at you. "Did it not occur to you that it was convenient? The Resistance's very own producer of poisons wanting out of the Resistance. They can't find a place to go because of their reputation and criminal past. Suddenly, someone offers to take you in without even so much as a second thought.

"Don't you see? Once you're in this war there's no escaping. All you did was defect, you fool. You're a murderer like the rest of us."

"Shut up!" you screamed. BB-8 whimpered, flinching away from you in terror at your outburst. Rey's fist hit the wall in a horrible pounding, three pounds per second. The pounding began to echo in return until the whole building sounded like it was ready to collapse. It would be a matter of minutes--no, seconds-- before the barrage of defenders would reach the four of you.

You had to process this quickly. You were unwittingly drafted into war once more through your sheer desperation for freedom of the bloodshed and lying. All of your neighbours are First Order. You are First Order. They hired you for your experience, and you had been so naïve to believe it had nothing to do with your past. You brought the First Order commander to the largest sector of Resistance Residence in the city, and everyone within the building is going to tear him limb from limb. 

And for some godforsaken reason, you cared whether or not he died.

"If you let me die, your life will be next," Kylo's voice overpowered the booming. "You are First Order. The Resistance is obligated to kill any invading force. Even if you were to defect back to the Resistance, Snoke would put a pretty bounty on your head for betrayal and abandonment of your post. You would be forced to run for the rest of your days until you die by either the hands of First Order or by your own accord. Flee now and you'll survive, stay and you'll be just another tally in the casualty count. Choose wisely."

Rey's eyes focused on you. She was terrified, absolutely terrified. Of him, of you, of the unspoken decision you all knew you had to make. Your life was on the line no matter what you chose. If you let yourself get captured, you'd tell General Organa where the top three are. That would make you a traitor to the First Order, and they don't take traitors lightly. They would hunt you down, put a price on your head. He was right-- you were a slave to the choice of life or death.

The safest, most dangerous decision right now...

Your arms wrapped around BB-8 protectively. You whispered how much you loved him, how much of a good dog he was. Tears streamed down your face as you thrust the leash into Rey's hands, begging her to forgive you for the mistake you have made, and possibly about to make. You promised that you would figure out a way to protect them and keep them safe though Rey's protests and pleas.

You gave Rey once last hug, heart pounding as hard as the oncoming storm of defenders. With a kiss on the cheek, you ran off in Kylo's direction, urging him to lose the cargo. That blasted, devious smirk was triumphant and seeped with evil-- it was what made you land the furious punch against that big nose of his, earning a distinct "CRACK". Your own fist ached in regret, but his deserving quelled the pain.

As he held his face you grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him out to the parking lot. You didn't hesitate to drop his ass at your car and order him to get in. He grumbled at you, initially refusing until the war cry of a few hundred angry Resistance hollowed out the atmosphere with their threats and wanton screams. 

He settled into the passenger seat and brought his hand to his sight-- blood. You broke his nose with that blow, and he had never been more excited about pain in his life. You had power behind you, not just a knowledge of which chemical combines with which, and it pumped his blood with adrenaline. Your aggression was his glee.

The tires screeched as you drove off the lot and sped down the street, barely caring about another run-in with the law should you pass a cop car. You were furious. You were panicking. You were a plethora of primal energy and you couldn't think as clearly as you wished you could. You hadn't even realized you turned down the wrong street until you passed an unfamiliar street sign. 

Tears poured from your heart as you grit your teeth, "Why?"

Holding his nose, he glared at you viciously. "Why what?"

You didn't really know what you meant. Why did he lie to you? Why did Snoke take advantage of you? Why did he hurt Finn and Rey? Why did he kill all those people? Why did he abandon his family by killing his father? Why did he have to kill Han Solo?

Why did it have to be him? 

"Why me?" you uttered finally, letting the road take you somewhere else. You didn't care where, you just wanted to be free and alone and maybe... not exist. "Why did everyone sugarcoat it? Why didn't anyone go ahead and say, 'Welcome to the First Order! Are you sure you would like to stay?' Hm? Is everyone seriously as morally decrepit as I've heard?"

He grabbed the wheel and readjusted the tires. You hadn't realized you were driving off on a high-speed country road, smooching the tires on the road's shoulder. Where did this road even take you? How did you neglect to navigate yourself back home? Sighing, you pulled over and put on your hazards. Your head hit the wheel in defeat, eliciting the wailing of the vehicle's horn.

Kylo hated those tears. The fleeting memory of your thumb smoothing over the rough, dry skin on his knuckles tickled his spine; he was crashing down from his prior adrenaline in a powerful tidal wave of post-rage regret. The pure fear in your eyes, the yearnful song of caged bird. You were simply a civilian caught in the crossfire, and because of it you got caught up in a world you wanted no part of.

"I wanted to tell you," he admitted lowly, wincing. The guilt broke the torque in his heart as relief settled in the pit of his black soul. "You were too... unconventional. You're practically a puppy. Then, Phasma goes ahead and deduces your truth; the apothecary of the Resistance. Regardless, your naïvety was refreshing, if not addictive."

With gradual rotation of your head you shot him the deadliest glare you swore you've ever given. You were going to kill him, and you were going to make sure it was tantalisingly slow and that is was equal to the travesty brought unto you. You were going to feed him an acid, a toxin that would pull his insides out and his outsides in. You would enjoy every second of his agony, lap up every drop of his cries for mercy.

You got out of the car with a slam, just barely dodging the pick-up truck swerving around you. Once the way was clear, you crossed the road and into the grassy field. The sound of a car door slamming behind you frustrated you even further, but all you could do to keep yourself from screaming was fall on your knees, then face-first into the ground. The earthy scent filled your nose and kissed your heart, soothing it with the natural call of the wild.

"You're acting like a child," Kylo voiced. You grabbed a handful of grass and lamely tossed it behind you, barely even touching him. You didn't even react when his dirty shoes hooked under your hip and flipped you onto your back. You stared up at the sky, envying the clouds until Kylo finally loomed over you with blood streaming down jaw. "You only have yourself to be mad at."

Like an injection, fury flowed through your veins and was made audible through a roar of anger. You jumped back up to your feet and pounced at him, effectively knocking him over. He never considered you would have enough power to break his balance-- he was positively embarrassed by his compromising position; your hands around his neck and his own stretched far enough to hold your shirt. You had him pinned under you, straddling him and holding him down with all of your might.

"You've killed thousands of people, innocent or not," you snarled, a feral creature bent on revenge. "You've killed your own father! Children! You tortured Poe! You almost killed Finn, and tried killing Rey, you murderer!" Tears resumed their plight as you reel a fist back, aiming to cause irreversible damage to that broken bone in his face. It came crashing down--

He caught your attack and regained the strength he needed to turn you over onto your back. He pinned your arms down on either side of your head and leaned down so he could look you in the eye; blood fell onto your cheek, making you cringe in disgust. "Do you think I like my job?" he quarrelled, his words dripping in desperation and pleading. "Do you honestly believe I don't look at my own hands and see the oceans of blood I have produced working my field? I never once asked to become this monster, I never uttered a suggestion to kill so many. I never wanted to gain power this way, just as you never wanted the power they requested you to gain. I am your future, I am your equal. We are two of the same thrust into a situation out of our control. Recognise that."

Your strength, as resilient as you were, faded away staring into those eyes of his. You huffed away the stress and watched as he rolled off of you and to the ground next to you. You laid side-by-side, staring up at the sky with a new understanding of the man next to you. You were stuck at this stand-still, unable to determine whether or not you trusted him. Now that you were here, cloud-watching with the guy whose nose leaked like a faucet and his hands were registered killing machines, you wanted... you wanted to know everything about him. It was your defense to know as much as you could about the enemy, but for now...

... You would have to settle having him as your ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo! This one got my veins pumping! I hope it's as exhilarating reading it as it was writing it.
> 
> Feedback & Constructive Criticism is so very welcome~!!! <3 Stay wonderful, my lovelies!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to your first ever First Order meeting, the drive in Phasma's sportscar is undeniably tense, uncomfortable, and the perfect atmosphere for a fight. Your trust in Kylo is withering but it still stands as you brace yourself for the council to come, as Kylo reflects on his interest in a figure whose life brought upon the construction of the Sith Empire and destroyed it as well.

The ride was uncomfortably awkward.

You had found out about your recruitment into the First Order, and even worse you found out that your neighbours had been hiding the truth from you. You began to trust them, feel a connection to them. Your life had been making a turn for the better... or so you thought. Instead, when you felt the life you aspired to have dangling just in the good graces of your outstretched fingers, it was yanked much farther from you than before.

You wanted your life back.

You wanted your family back.

And now, you were never going to see them again or you were going to die trying.

Phasma, who'd been operating the vehicle for the last hour or so, greeted you with a warm, welcoming, almost twisted smile. She introduced herself as your partner, which you already knew from interrogating Kylo Ren when you took him to the hospital to get his nose patched up. She had asked you the basics of your life, starting with your career and skills, all of which you knew she knew-- again, from Kylo. 

He was one hell of a squirmer. He hated doctors, he hated needles, and more often than not you had to sit on him to hold him down whenever they touched the inflamed areas of his nose. When they had asked what broke his nose, you told them the truth that you had punched him, but twisted it by adding that you two were going through the corn maze just outside the city. He snook up on you, unaware of your fear of mazes, and you walloped him in the nose out of fright. It was a lie, but they bought it.

On the ride home, you made it clear to him that you wouldn't stand for information being kept from you, about the First Order, who's to die, and what Snoke planned for you. You wouldn't tolerate being sheltered, and you certainly weren't going to take being a pawn sitting down. When you got back to the building, you shut yourself in your apartment and locked the door, shutting yourself away from the world as you grabbed a blanket and curled up beneath the branches of your tree.

You only got up to fulfill your expected duty as set by Hux. You almost lost track of time, spirit dwindling in the shower as the heated water cascaded down your skin, kissing and caressing the pain as if nurturing it so you would become tired and crave sleep. Your appetite was practically non-existent, but you knew it'd bite you in the ass if you didn't have at least a snack. 

Once you got to Hux's residence, he greeted you with that pompous, devious smirk, kissed your hand, then brought you to the vehicle where you were stuffed in the back with the murderer you came to know.

Phasma and Hux interviewed you about your old life with one question stacked on another, even having the audacity to ask where you used to live-- to which you said, "In my mother's house." Their inquiries persisted, all to which you danced around with euphemism after euphemism. By watching the way Hux's eyebrow twitched through the side-view mirror, you could tell he was having enough of your sarcasm. Phasma had another question, but you were bored with the interview. You had to wrap it up, it was just getting to be old news. 

"Do you know our sector of the city is safest from the war?" she asked, checking her rear-view. She sounded... reassuring, as if she understood your anxieties about the presence of war. It made you feel guilty for resenting her despite not knowing her.

You turned your gaze to the country-side, focusing particularly on a withering, old barn that looks older than time itself. Even the wooden boards looked rusted, collapsing in on itself. The plains of dirt and grass were a barren wasteland, abandoned from hope, humanity, and security. Further towards the barn you made out a crater surrounded by various other piles of dirt and debris; you identified some of the ruin as tractor parts and... 

Your stomach churned as you recognised the shrapnel as the results of a bomb detonation. 

You finally managed to vocalize an answer, tone solemn and almost inaudible compared the whipping winds of the speeding convertible. "I suppose it would be, seeing as we're in the war."

An uncomfortable silence took over the atmosphere, save for the purr of the engine and the screaming breeze. Phasma's shoulders squared in the driver's seat, rigid with authority. Hux's eyebrows furrowed, his black trenchcoat bunching up when he crossed his long legs. Phasma glanced at Hux, seeking his silent agreement to a silent deal, and in the corner of your eyes you watched Kylo shift awkwardly. 

"I take it Ren told you," Hux spat, dropping his chauvinistic exterior completely. The redhead was disgusted; you didn't need to see his face to know that. Poor Hux, his game was ruined by whatever humanitarian was left in his partner. He made note to publicly identify Kylo's weakness in front of the entire First Order fleet.

You scoffed, trying to hide the unconventional defensiveness you felt in Kylo's favour. You glanced at the latter's nose, shivering upon spying the bandage crossing the bridge of nose and securing itself to his cheekbones. "I wonder why you would make such an assumption," you murmured, sarcastic yet self-conscious.

Kylo returned your glance, fists tightened on the edges of the helmet placed on his lap. He resented everything. He resented this meeting, he resented you, he resented letting you find out about this, and still he resented Hux the most. Perhaps the only tolerable person in this car was Phasma, as she hadn't done a single thing to him, or anyone for that matter.

"You're Captain Phasma of the Stormtrooper army, the trainer of kidnapped children and lost causes," you readjusted your position in your seat. "But I can't judge you when I'm seated next to a serial killer." You heard leather clench to your left; you cleared your throat. "General Hux, how does it feel to be the reason our nation is in shambles? I'm sure the only reason you're under the Commander Ren's protection is because the UN would tear you apart should they find you."

"I am not a serial killer," he defended with vexation, voice boisterous and more than enough for any eavesdroppers to pry upon. Phasma sped up the engine to prevent any overhearers from open car windows. "I am Lord Snoke's protégé."

"You're his lapdog with a set of teeth," you remarked, not a sense of amusement in your voice at all. Your posture, your tone, you were soaked in the very malice Kylo bleeds. Kylo loathed it. "Don't romanticise your position." 

As Hux's snickering ensued from up front Kylo bared his teeth at you. He needed to destroy something, preferably you. He couldn't, however, at least until he found out just how useful an accessory you could be to Snoke and how Snoke intended to use you. Maybe you were his replacement after all the countless times Snoke covered his ass from the law, after all the money Snoke burned protecting him. 

He was conflicted with how dark your expression had become; you lost the light and you searched for it in the setting sun. Your eyes scanned the sky with vigour, he felt it, looking for relaxation and perhaps hope, like the changing hues held the answers to your dilemma. He knew that you had to be practically emotionless in order for Snoke to respect you, if not appreciate your involvement. If it wasn't for the rage within you being pent-up and restricted for concealment's sake, you were well on your way to being Snoke's preferred hit-man. He was proud of that. 

But he couldn't help the gut-wrenching onus from gnawing away at his insides. He was to blame for your pain, for hiding the truth in the two days you had been in the First Order; but it wasn't his purpose to cause you harm. In his defense, he has never been much of a social butterfly, thus your sunshiney personality and radiant smile broke his stone-cold demeanour and left him nothing more than an awkward hot mess.

The car was the white noise once more. Phasma's crystalline eyes landed on you through the rear-view mirror every few seconds. Hux's cigarette dangled between his index and middle finger, a shit-eating grin on his face. You would find out at the meeting what use you would be to the First Order, which meant you'd be dealing with him more often in terms of administration and overseeing. You were his new toy; your personal hatred would grow tenfold for him and the thought excited him. 

You and Kylo were already snapping jaws for each other's necks, and by the look of Kylo's nose you were winning. Such was odd for Kylo, as he never let the new recruits gets the upper hand. 

Whatever it was about you that put Kylo's guard down, it was making Hux really like your presence among them.

In due time Phasma pulled off the freeway and onto a secluded backroad. The sun was peaking out from behind the horizon-grounded forests, shining light behind the trees as the world's lamp dimmed. Silver clouds leisurely drifted above in the violet-to-charcoal gradient of the sky. Hundreds of cars lined up on the shoulders, parked and vacant of passengers. In the distance, the road rose on elevated ground, ascending a hill. You were close to the meeting, you inferenced. 

A minute passed. 

You let your eyes stray to your left, where Kylo had almost mirrored your previous posture. He observed the sky with little-to-no interested, or maybe that's what you thought. Perhaps he was lost in his mind, thinking so much that he hadn't noticed you watching him. Your gaze trailed to his hands, and to your flustered realisation his thumb skimmed over his knuckles with soft grace. 

Your chest squeezed as you marvelled over his actions; Kylo's hands must not have been used for anything except the cold-blooded slaying of innocents and rebels. They're calloused with the leathery touch of the hunt and rough from the scrubbing of soap on coarse, sin-drenched skin. A scar or two marked his fingers, giving evidence of your theory's accuracy. You pitied the idea. No physical compassion was ever given to him, not even in the form of a high-five, maybe.

You wanted to reach out to him and play with his hands for him, but the bitter regret of your frustration reprimanded you for such an impulse. Your heart pounded at the thought of holding Kylo's hand; torn between being a decent friend and having your morals intact. 

In his head, he, too, was having an internal war over his feelings. Snoke would have him whipped for being so immersed in someone else's life and duties, especially since you're not his assigned partner. He hated himself, and he knew you hated him too. He did kill his own father and annihilated his uncle's students, forcing his uncle-- and icon for the Resistance-- into hiding. Therefore he betrayed his mother and literally cut ties with his immediate family. He did try killing two of your friends, only to get the mark of defeat marring half his face. You had every reason to hate him.

He wondered if his grandfather had experienced the same issues. He knew his grandfather slaughtered the Jedi and overturned the entire country's government with such a violent revolution. It was a beautiful display of power and strength, no one dared defy him... except his daughter, his son, and his son-in-law (accompanied by his trusted companion), of course. Kylo's uncle Luke took the efforts of his own father and shredded it, dethroning the Emperor, and letting an entire civil war go to waste. 

Snoke inspired Kylo to take hold of that power again, start all over in his grandfather's footsteps. He was going to continue, conquer, and finish what Anakin Skywalker started. But his ambitions would have to be put aside until he could figure out where you stand in his life and how he could deal with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling pretty confident in this fic now as the chapters keep rolling out and positive reviews come in. c:
> 
> Shoutout to hufflesith, Taytle, Stinaxsays, and Human Chaos for those reviews, as they've really helped boost my motivation to keep this going for as long as it has. You four are awesome, and I thank you. <3 Stay awesome.
> 
> Feedback & Constructive Criticism is very welcome here. c: Hope you have an amazing day/night/life~!! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first-ever encounter with Snoke arrives at the sharp end of Kylo's knife. A new operation is beginning to unfold as, much to your horror, the First Order is zoning on the whereabouts of the Resistance's prime base, which threatens the very safety and security of your loved ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait~! Lots of schoolwork and other responsibilities. I've been working on this one all week, revising and editing. I hope it's worth the wait~!

Fuck, you were an _idiot_. 

The entire road you travelled on was just a huge, goddamn driveway for the unmistakably large residence. The manor was obnoxiously grand, situated on the grand cliff overlooking the city. It was as if Snoke saw the city as his territory, or as if he was always watching the progress of the war within it. Lingering just within the lobby alone you could hear your breath echo in the hollow, gunmetal-grey-and-blood-red hall, even if there were countless other people adorned in white, militaristic-formal garb all around you. You were overwhelmed, you were irritated, and you wanted nothing more than be in Berlin with Poe. 

You kept the pace behind Kylo and Phasma as they paved a path through the crowd of white-adorned First Order. All of these strangers contrasted with the darker, steel-and-blood colours of the walkway. Every eye seemed to be on you when a single question surfaced: "Who were you and why were with the three highest ranking officials in Snoke's employ?" Surely they hadn't known you were a new addition to his dog pound by the curious glints in their eyes. The sharp whispers of gossip and investigation sounded around you, and all you could do was follow your superiors to wherever they wanted you to go.

Hux, right next to you, placed a hand on the small of your back as the four of you ascended a wide staircase, your hand gripping the ornate railway so hard your knuckles turned white. You nearly shimmied him off, but kept your composure for the watchful eyes of the pawns below. Hux sidestepped in front of you approaching the ornate doors with a one-sided stride-- reducing movement of his right arm as he walked, much to your amusement-- and like Kylo before him he disappears turning the corner. You follow suit, taking one last glance at the small gathering before Phasma took the door handle, nodded a reassurance to you, and shut the door, leaving you three to wander. You identify the faint hiss behind you as their whispers, just amplified.

Were they all that was left from...?

Before you was another long hallway, seeming as though it was crafted from polished obsidian and radiant rubies. There were no people save for you three , leaving the hallways a canyon for noise. Your dress shoes click-clacked against the reflective tiles, making you self-conscious in comparison of the two silent-striders ahead. You reluctantly kept close to your companions; this corridor was just plain eerie.

"You're late."

The deep voice bellowed powerfully throughout the hollow corridor, shocking your nerves with unpleasant vibes that left you on-edge and unbearably nervous. You sub-consciously stood a step behind Kylo, unaware that your fear was showing. Having never met Snoke face-to-face before, the atmosphere and general greeting was more than unsettling. You found yourself gripping the the hems of your sleeves with a vice grip. 

You shouldn't have any business here. You should've stayed in the Resistance. You should've listened to Poe and stayed there with him, so you would've never pitied Phasma, never let yourself get hit on Hux, and you would've never felt the searing pain of betrayal that you do for Kylo. You were no longer welcome in the Resistance, and now you were stuck here, oppressed by the fear of death's frozen, rigid grasp.

"I don't recall inviting you," Snoke emphasised, feeling his sunken in eyes bore holes through your being. You swallowed hard, waiting for the order to dispose of you. "However, this is a good meeting to show uninvited, as this is a meeting about your introduction into the First Order and further plans to advance."

You hesitantly took a step forward, finally daring to make eye-contact with the balcony-elevated lord. His scarred and burned face was veiled by the shadow casting from behind him. His beady eyes were mere slits in his ghoulish, elderly face. He looked like he was ready to drop dead any second; a cane held up his lanky, lithe towering form. Something about his posture and composure gave you the idea of a withering old wise man -- or a dead tree-- but you were convinced he was far more capable of anything than he appeared. Why else would he be the supreme ruler of the First Order?

"You have your mouth open, yet you mouth silence," Snoke's voice grows sharp, almost feral. You instinctively shut your mouth. "You have questions, have you not?"

Your chest twisted with remembrance of your anger, and you nodded your head sternly. "I'd like to know how someone could be so cruel as to drag someone into a war they want no part of?" you began, feigning confidence. You felt him smirk behind that shadow, as though he felt your wavering charisma. "I'd also like to know what it is you have planned for me, because god knows I have no precise clue. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were going to let me find out on my own what you intended for me."

You were met with the pang of submissive impulse as you saw his wrinkles tug his lips into a devilish smile rightfully belonging to a toothless senior. "It is obvious, is it not?" he huffed; you practically felt the fangs of a vampire hovering right above your jugular, losing patience as it teased it's prey. 

"I'd rather hear it directly from you," you toned, narrowing eyes at his raised form. "Or do I need to get on one knee and bow my head for you, oh Master of Inhumanity?"

"Know your rank," he chided, amusement wiped from his face. As quickly as it left, his smirk returned seeing the way your cheeks burned with rage.

You crossed your arms, taking a couple steps forward. You bit the inside of your cheek, "I never received one, which is partly what I'm asking for. Answer my questions."

The atmosphere grew tense; you felt as though the air was being sucked right out from within you as you carried on your stare. You refused to be the first to back down, not when you've already found yourself in the pit of hell. You knew where you were, you had the upperhand. You could feed the information concerning Snoke's whereabouts to Poe and you could take down the First Order sooner than Snoke could probably get down the stairs.

Snoke flicked his gaze at Kylo momentarily, as if silently requesting something of him. Kylo made no motion, and if he had made any reaction to you or Snoke it was hidden behind the chrome of his mask."Your employment is the Skeleton Key," he explained. "You have left a remarkable hole in our plans, and your involvement in our plight will thrust us forward into inevitable victory."

You furrowed your brows. "Forcing victory before its prime is an act of impatience. Getting cocky will be your downfall, fascist," you remarked. "How are you so confident that I will willingly submit to your plans and ideals? Dangle my freedom over my head?"

"You will get it eventually," he waved his hand, dismissing the thought. You released your personal tension by unfolding your arms. "You will get your freedom when we restore the Empire to its former glory."

Did he just say what you thought he said? You gritted your teeth, "So you're saying my freedom will come the day I die?" Behind you, you swore you heard a grumble, a groan, and perhaps a growl. Your fists bundled together, you would've been more than glad to brawl with Kylo had it not been for that stupid helmet.

Snoke frowned so hard the wrinkles of his scars emphasised, even in the darkness. "The Resistance is inferior. It is weak, pathetic, and will prove itself a pest no longer to the First Order--"

"March's country-wide bombings begs to differ," you deflected, smiling. "Your fleet was almost obliterated. Your bloodhound almost got slaughtered, and you almost lost your two other prime employees. Do you not feel in the slightest bit upset about that genocide? Do you not think of your recruits and soldiers? You're an old fool, and I can't believe the Resistance is wasting their time on you."

"Is that pride I'm sensing?" he hummed, face blank but tone smug.

You grit your teeth, your smile wiped off like whiteboard marker. He hit a nerve, and he knew it the moment you opened your mouth and spat out a peculiarly vicious phrase demanding that he go engage in coitus with himself... except in a much less professional manner. Anger welling up within you boiled, then somewhere along the way transformed into burning magma. The steam propelled you forward, pushing you into a run as you were eager to climb that balcony and--

A hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back just as you were about to leap. You barely got the chance to process the swish of a blade being unsheathed before you were being pushed away from a furious Kylo. In a flash of white you were on the ground and Phasma was shoving and restraining the berserker as he let out a vile shriek. You have upset him more than you could touch the apathy in Snoke's mind, and such a revelation pissed you off further.

The bodkin was torn from Kylo's wrist and chucked across the room out of his reach. You got to your feet as Phasma held Kylo to his knees, her hand gripping the hood of his sweater tighter than hell. You panted, hard, the adrenaline dissolving into shock. The hollow room filled with the buzzing of soldiers outside, the door hanging wide open. Through the relative silence, you registered the metallic clicking of Hux irritatedly attempting to light his cigarette.

You found yourself staring into the visor of Kylo's mask, unable to truly see the wild gaze but you were positive you didn't need to. You could feel the pure hatred smouldering off the embers of his eyes. Your blood ran cold, freezing still as your breath caught itself and held it back. You wondered how Poe was fairing in grand old Berlin. You pondered over Rey's emotional state, whether or not she was fine or breaking down. Finn crossed your mind, and such a strong desire to sit back and have a drink with him surged over your form. You needed to go to a dog park with BB-8 and play with him, throw a ball, get tackled, get slobbered on by his long tongue...

You needed your old life back, and by the sadistic, entertained look in Snoke's eyes you weren't going to get it anytime soon.

"Now that we've established order," Snoke breathed wearily. You felt his heavy gaze release you from its icy grip, and watched as Phasma's steely eyes lifted with attention. "Report."

Hux stepped forward with precise, planned steps. "Intel managed to generalise a location in the South-East," he informed, head held high. "I am in the midst of formulating a plan to isolate various locations and claim territory. Slowly but surely, the Resistance base will be eradicated and everyone and everything with it. However, our numbers and troop morale is low, which does throw a wrench in my blueprints until both are properly restored."

"When I dismiss you, go restore morale," Snoke issued, "Motivating my men is undoubtedly one of your strongest suits."

Hux's lips twitched upwards, his back stiffening and fingers splaying in the frozen air. He was giddy from flattery, and if you didn't know any better you'd say he wasn't delighted by the compliment. "Thank you, my lord."

"You will follow through with your plan; disappoint me and your rank and title will be on the chopping block," Snoke instructed with a shifting of his cane. Hux gave a slight bow, unphased by the threat. Satisfied, Snoke faced Phasma, "Will you be participating in the mission, Captain?"

She gave a curt nod. "Yes, my lord. I have received orders to ensure every man, woman, and child is equipped and ready for battle. The importance of this mission is dire, and the key to victory is keen aim, solid stamina, and obedience."

His cheeks rose in the shadows; you assumed he was contorting his facial muscles into a smile. He ignored the expression of pure contempt emanating from below, your violently raging eyes enough to set the mansion ablaze. "Excellent," he praised. "You will provide training for your new partner as well. Whatever regiment it is, I have no care for. Ensure they are well equipped with knowledge of fitness, hand-to-hand combat, and survival. They will be accompanying you as an apprentice."

Your held breath released into a shallow breathing. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the ifrit beneath the helmet, but you were conscious of the surrounding world. Snoke was going to make you a soldier, he was going to break you. He was going to use you for what you knew rather than what you could do. _Bastard_. 

"Commander Ren," Snoke's voice hollowed your mind with his ominous voice. "You will be leading the expedition. I expect you contribute to their training through weapons combat. This way you two may learn to collaborate and cooperate, and we can save our body bags." 

You heard a heave of air flush from Kylo's helmet, an exasperated sigh of the raging bull. He was not in the least glad for this new assignment, he didn't need to tell anyone that. His shoulders hunched as he took quick, deep breaths. Your blood surged with his contagious panic; maybe it was your own anxiety welling up within you staring into that opaque lens.

"Within the next week you, General, Commander, and Captain, will receive a file containing information gathered by Intel; it will contain everything we know about our newcomer. Our next gathering will be two weeks from now. I expect, by then, your plans will be prepared for the operation, Hux. Your recreational assignments will be cut off until further notice."

 

Hux bowed again, much calmer than before. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, the ashes descending to the reflective onyx floor like heavy snow. "Without question, my lord. Thank you, my lord." 

"You are dismissed."

Phasma nudged Kylo to his feet, ushering him out with the rest of you. You stood in horror, watching the way your reflection mimicked your unbridled terror at your feet. Through the refraction you saw your eyes perfectly, as though you were standing in a pool of the blackest diamonds. Your eyes were anchored to the ground, yet your mind followed the sharp clicks of Hux's dress shoes. 

You were just a piece on the chess board, nothing more. The Resistance was winning, so the First Order stole your piece and painted it their colours. And hearing that Snoke had been keeping tabs on you, knew who you were including every small, miniscule detail, it froze you to the bone. He would know that you were giving away secrets, no matter what you did to hide it. He'd have ears in the walls and eyes in the skies, ensuring you do not pose a threat at all to the campaign. 

You were not an employee. You were a prisoner. 

You took a less-than-graceful step forward, dragging your feet against the floor. Your heart had been poisoned, sickened by the culmination of devastation, travesty, and tragedy. You walked into their trap like a curious creature-- now it was your turn to decide if you were a cowardly mouse or a gutsy rat. 

"Commander, you will remain," Snoke ordered. Something about his tone was... demonic. It made your feet stagger slightly, breaking the tentative rhythm you had already established. Kylo stopped completely, falling behind as you glanced over your shoulder. His chin was lowered in shame; in the dim lighting shimmered the grounded blade in which he threatened you with. You hesitated, giving yourself the moment to breathe before you let Phasma shut the door behind you.

The room was engulfed in the shadows, the door restricting the access of light and Snoke shutting off the light behind him. Kylo's helmet hit the floor with a deafening clonk as he turned and entered the center spotlight illuminated by the skylight. The moon was bright this night, full of power and pride. Kylo reluctantly discarded his hoodie, then his shirt. He stared down at his feet, swallowing the plume as he took a knee, then another at his master's silent order.

He had displeased his lord, and he was to pay an appropriate homage to Snoke. He steeled himself, levelling his breathing as he braced himself for his punishment. He lowered himself so he was on his hands and knees, bare back presented to his master. He heard the slow, footsteps, felt the ravenous eyes ravaging his bones with their malign fixation. He wouldn't dare look up, he wasn't allowed to. The sound of heavy leather hit the ground; all that was to await him now was the bullwhip's kiss.

Snoke's footsteps fell behind Kylo, but steadied themselves. He shut his eyes, embracing the darkness when he heard fabric shift.

"You are distracted, Kylo Ren," his master stated, monotone and unreadable. The hairs on the back of Kylo's neck retracted, trying to get as far away from Snoke as possible. Kylo took a deep breath, trying to even his breathing. "You know better than to attack without order. Should you have killed them, you would have ruined our plans."

"My sincerest apologies, Master," Kylo eased out, keeping his voice small and submissive. He had so much shame, so much unbearable shame. "Please punish me by any means necessary."

If Snoke had an eyebrow, he would've quirked it quizzically. He contemplated whether or not a whipping was what Kylo deserved; the man already had plenty of scars, fresh and old, from previous punishments. Afterall, you weren't the first fourth among Kylo, Hux, and Phasma-- all before you had barely a week to survive. You escaped death for now, but Snoke couldn't afford to lose his winning trophy. Discipline was in order.

He raised his arm above his head, calculating where it was exactly that he wanted to hit. He was going to ensure there was blood spilt as a future reminder; he was going to make sure each scar pulsed with every thought of murder, from now until victory. 

**_Snap!_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tensetensetensetensetensetense. What will Reader do? What can Reader do? Hell, even I don't know! I hope you're all enjoying it~! Feedback & Constructive Criticism is so very much welcome! <3 Hope you're having a fabulous day/night~! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo is now your responsibility, and after a quick sedative to make your hospitality less of a chore, he is the patient residing in your bed. Coming to, Kylo let's you know what he thinks about your hospitality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Blood and slight contemplation of suicide (very brief, not violent, not acted upon).

Your life was as good as over.

You wanted nothing more to do with this war, but no matter what you would do you would be condemned to your death. Betray the First Order in any way, and you'll be Commander Kylo Ren's, the Commanding Knight of Ren (of supposedly a select few), next feast. Even if you managed to get away somehow, he would be constantly hunting you down. If you gave away information about the First Order to the Resistance-- especially the Resistance-- you were labelled a traitor and every member of the First Order would know who you are, what you look like, and eventually learn where you live. You would be First Order feed.

After Kylo was left with Snoke, Hux gave an oddly inspirational speech to the troops. He put you in the spotlight, holding your obedience up on the pedestal of fame while referring to you as the bane of the Resistance. It was a lie, the three of you knew that. A jarring crackle of thunder boomed throughout the lobby, Hux urgently trying to speak over it and rile up the men and women standing below. You thought nothing of it; all you wanted was to get out of there and hide until the continent was finally blown to smithereens. 

With the plan explained and out of the way, Hux issued all of the troops to return to their homes and look forward to the operation. Phasma held your arm firmly, yet careful not to harm you. You were ready to tear her a new one for treating you like an easily distracted child-- or a prisoner, better yet-- when the final Stormtrooper closed the mansion's doors and Hux huffed. The red-head faced you with anger in those once charming orbs.

"You have no authorisation here to speak your mind," he lectured harshly. If you weren't already fearing the worst, he had set it in stone. "Under his roof and in Ren's presence you will keep quiet. I don't care what pride you have, drop the act and realize your position. Here, you are outnumbered and any wrong move will lead to the inevitable end of your life. Don't kill yourself so soon."

As the words processed through your mind, your argument was stifled by the door behind you reopening to reveal a bloodied, staggering Kylo Ren. He hadn't the strength to speak, only to fall forward and struggled against the three of you hauling him back to Phasma's car. You urged them to take him to the hospital, but they explained that if he was to get treated it'd be by them. If otherwise, it'd be the whip for all of them. 

And because it was your fault Kylo acted out in the first place, they dumped him on you and told you to deal with it. So, he was resting in your bed while you took up the corner of your quarters with a pile of clothes and a bundle of blankets. Not that you could sleep, as everytime you shut your eyes all you could see was the brutal wrath of Kylo Ren. 

One nightmare consisted of Kylo knocking on your door before you answered it, excited to see him there until he ran you through on his blade. Another was raunchy, the most prominent and emotionally... distressing. It included your bedroom, Kylo's naked body, and your jugular being torn right out by his teeth.

Your eyes scanned over a particular glass apathetically, knowing very well what it contained. It was your first poison, with the stench as deadly as gasoline fumes are flammable. You named it after Poe as a joke, to which he full-on accepted and encouraged. But now, it was no longer a joke but a question of to be, or not to be.

_Thud!_

Your tired eyes narrowed, yet no anger or frustration settled in the pit of your beating heart. You expected that stubborn jerkface to try something he knew he wasn't supposed to, especially with all those fresh wounds emphasising the old. 

You wouldn't admit to taking a long, hard look at the ruined complexion of the commander, especially after he was prepared to kill you for talking back to his boss. Phasma and Hux splayed him across your bed as you collected and gathered First Aid supplies from the unpacked boxes and your neighbours. Phasma held Kylo's half-conscious body down due to the occasional flail while Hux helped you stop the bleeding as well as bandage Kylo up. 

When the bleeding finally stopped you started cleansing the gashes-- only to receive the black and blue mark of a bruise. It still stung. So, in your frustration, you sedated him by forcing him to swallow california flower tincture. When he finally passed out you got to work and quickly, insisting to the two of them you could handle the sleeping hitman. Phasma left, but returned shortly after with an airhorn, bringing with it instruction to blow it should there be any complications.

There wasn't, but you couldn't help but appreciate her care, even if you knew it was just for her occupation's sake.

So you cleansed his wounds and bandaged them up nice and firmly, sure to leave some breathing space. You tucked him in and left a glass of water on the nightstand in the off-chance he woke up and needed refreshment. He didn't, much to your delight; you didn't want to deal with him when you yourself had no energy. 

You grabbed the mug of tea off the coffee table and began your hesitant trek to your bedroom. You concocted another douse of california flower, but brewed it as a tea mixture and combined it with lavender. It was a sedative and a pain killer all in one cup and he was going to take it one way or another. 

You faced the open door and peered in like a timid child looking for their parents' comfort. Kylo was on your bed, tearing off the bandages and seething with anger. He grit his teeth, shoving the bloodied bandages into his mouth as a muffler. Your spine tingled and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. 

With anxiety you cleared your throat. His hostility finally hit you as his eyes captured yours in his net of mania. You rooted yourself into the ground, gulping back the fear. 

"I'm sorry for last night," you grimaced, voice bordering on a whisper. He grunted nothing at you, then brought his hands out from behind his back. Crimson soaked his palm like a collection of water, alerting you of his lacerations' re-openings. As you dashed over to join the mug with his glass, he stood his ground and gripped your shoulder with his bloodied grip.

You faltered and had no time to react as he palmed your throat and redirected you at the wall. He pinned you there, vices tightening but palm refusing to press on your airways. His shallow breathing added to the frantic searching of your eyes, as though he were scavenging your mind for the truth. Were you really sorry, or were you just another liar?

Then his furious fixation made to extend its search for lies to the rest of your face, noticing the hulking contusion blemishing your expression. Blood smeared your jawline-- his blood. It was only a matter of time before he felt the tickle of his own lifeforce running down his exposed skin.

He was still ready to make that pretty little neck pour red, but now his mission to slay you as an homage to Snoke was severed by his lord's reprimand. Instead, his homage was fifty whips. He remembered very little of the night following the fortieth snap, but what he did remember was the worry scribbled all over your conflicted body language-- even if he couldn't exactly see you during the drive through the country road.

Without thinking, he gingerly grazed his leather knuckles over the injury; the reaction was instantaneous. The treasures displayed in the windows to your soul shut and locked tight, muscles twitching in response to the unfamiliar pain sending shockwaves from your cheek all the way to the beds of your toenails. The minuscule motion was the sign of obviousness on your behalf, as he could infer it was your handiwork.

And for once, he didn't combat the remorse oozing itself out of his gashes and down his tailbone. 

"The pain," he grumbled, tone soft; his breath fanned over your face, steaming your skin. You shuddered. "You will let me suffer."

You narrowed your eyes, wincing again when the bruise pulsed. His thumb still careened down your cheek, ensuring the stinging sense. That was such a morbid request. "Excuse me?"

He grit his teeth, the dilated pupils of his eyes softening. He couldn't think of the words that'd make you understand-- you wouldn't understand at all. You processed it as masochism, or nihilism, the latter of which didn't sit too well with you. You had an issue restraining your hand as you reached up and held it on his knuckles. His bullet-like fingers twitched into your neck again, this time pinching skin. You hissed as your digits clamped down on his wrist. 

His rigid muscles, tense with murderous rage, lessened their strength. "In order for me to tolerate and give in to Snoke's rule, I must take my punishment in stride," he elaborated, though he felt he wasn't going through it thoroughly enough. "With the pain comes my anger, and my anger drives me to survive."

You searched his eyes desperately, the words settling in as you slowly deciphered his riddle. He was afraid of something-- no, Snoke. Snoke haunted him, with each word, with each look, with each promise. 

"Why must you give into his rule?" the words barely came out as a whisper, but they spoke volumes. The pain in his eyes told you you hit a nerve, but you hit the exact nerve you were aiming for. You restrained the victorious gleam from showing in such a compromising position.

He set his jaw, taking a deep breath and looking away for a mere second. He was falling apart, right here in your bedroom, standing just beyond a lips' distance from you with his hands pinning you to your wall. This was a set-up for a soap opera, you knew it. 

"Pride," he admitted, hot holding that fact back. "Ambition. Redemption. Politics."

You feigned consideration of each reason, momentarily wondering what he meant by redemption until you heard its successor. He unhinged his grip and pulled away, stare lingering on the blood-smothered handprint he left behind; smears of red graced your cheek. 

You gave a slow nod, not daring to tear away your gaze. "I have to stop the bleeding, at least," you suggested, acquainting yourself with the wall. His eyes glanced at your hands, contemplating. "And because I need to get ready for work, I'll let it be as painful as possible, okay?"

Those broken eyes gleamed with dubious resolve, and with a grasp of his hand you had him laying back down on your bed as you readied your supplies and steeled your humanity. While you were convincing yourself this was a fantastic opportunity for revenge over many, many instances being handed to you on a platter of gold, there was a nagging notion that not only was this going to hurt him, but by the pulsing in the left side of your jaw you knew this was going to hurt you as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little fluff~! Hope this is much more enjoyable compared to the previous chapter. I wish for you all a wonderful day/night/week/month/life~!
> 
>  
> 
> (as for those who might've felt a little uncomfortable reading this chapter, I am so very sorry. I should warn you now that in future chapters, there may be instances where I may bring up these feelings again, but despair and desperation will be reoccurring sensations characters will feel-- as it is human to be stressed and by now it's pretty evident the Reader's in a stressful situation.)
> 
> <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life at the zoo, to you, is almost as if there isn't anything wrong in the world one bit. Except there is, you're almost always under surveillance, and whatever you do will get relayed back to Snoke somehow. An incognito Kylo Ren observes from a safe distance while you reconnect with two very dear friends-- and warn them of the impending disaster waiting to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Kylo's in disguise and you get cuddle-attacked by a gang of bear cubs.

Your digits absorbed pleasure from the manual combing of rouselled, coarse hair. A low, throaty groan left the woodland mini-giant submitting to your affection, accepting it's domestication. It's third brother galloped to you and nudged your elbow eagerly, slipping between your arm and your side with mirth in those beady, brown eyes. The wet nose graced your own with an icy poke before absconding back to its napping mother. 

You had only showed up in the grizzly bear pen to do your routine checks, but the moment you made your presence known the cubs were falling over themselves for you; their mother's indifference towards you was unalarming, if not welcoming in its own manner. As long as she didn't attack you while her own cubs greeted you, you felt like you were the babysitter all children loved seeing walk through their front door.

It was relaxing. Not just the pen itself, comprised of a makeshift cave, grass, mechanically powered stream, and countless trees to imitate the grizzly's natural habitat, but the job as a whole. You were a Zookeeper, a caretaker of the animals, and you'd stay that way until the Resistance won or the UN transported the animals out of the country as well.

You'd finished all your basic duties, and you hadn't realized at all that you'd forgotten the struggles of the last two days. You intended to keep yourself busy until Kylo would inevitably call you to tell you his wounds were bleeding again, probably from him throwing a fit or purposely making his gashes leak.

Speaking of Kylo, you wondered where he was.

The conversation was blunt, it was short, and admittedly so you regretted every single twitch of sympathy you had for the lanky, masochistic bastard. You told him to go to the gym, where he could stretch out the lacerations and increase the pain tenfold if he wanted. He rejected. You told him he couldn't stay in your apartment. He told you he wanted to go for a walk, clear his head. You gave him your number in the off-chance he would need more medical attention. So he left, limping, fresh new bandages beneath the fabric of a t-shirt. You watched him slowly, with almost a menacingly stiff posture, stride down the sidewalk and out of sight.

It was a matter of time before you left for work, prepared with sunscreen, a bottle of ice cold H2O, and excitement for the day to come. 

A cub nudges your cheek, poking the bruise with the force similar to that of a train. Instantly you fell back in pain, to which the four cubs assumed you were just playing and pounced on you. Half-laughing half-sobbing under the crushing weight of the baby bears, you rolled around and tried to escape their cuddly, playful wrath.

Kylo couldn't stop the smile from gracing his lips at the sight of your struggling assault. The pained smile on your face combined by the plea for help contorted through the laughter, it was hard to resist the mirth. His back throbbed in remembrance, trying to push his good-nurtured amusement away, but the smile defiantly grew into its own, genuine chuckle. Around him, packs of children giggled and guffawed at the sight, as well as patrons and simple observers of the zoo.

He had wandered deeper into the city, taking in the pain with solemn gratitude as the gauze shifted around his torso and grazed his wounds. His mind wandered around the three days he'd known you. You had been courageous and hospitable, full of laughter. Then you'd caught him walking in after a slaughter, blood dripping and smeared along the hardwood floor. The colour drained from your face and might as well have blended into the crimson puddles. The morning following you'd dismissed the events as a dream, and then...

His knuckles tingled.

He still felt your hands wrapped around his throat; his nose stiffened at the memory of your punch. The tears that landed on his cheeks as you hovered over him still danced in memories on his facial nerves. The never-ending twists and turns of pity and remorse he got whenever he looked at you, even after almost killing you through his burst of anger. He imagined the redness of your eyes after he gave you your new mark, to which you were sure your co-workers asked about. He wondered if you drugged him, or contemplated poisoning him as you cleaned his wounds last night. He loathed how your eyes didn't even quiver in fear as he pinned you, how submissive you were despite how much you detested him. You gave up fighting, and if he didn't know any better he'd say you'd braced yourself for death.

His body throbbed in pain, spreading from his nose to his spine and throughout. You were destroying him from the inside out, and he was eager to make you pay for it.

He'd been following you at a close distance, ensuring he wasn't to be caught. He was positive you weren't going to recognise the blonde curls on his head, opposed to the raven waves he was sure you were used to by now. Not to mention he was wearing thin-wire glasses and... colour; a carrot-orange t-shirt beneath a cargo-green jacket. He was so utterly... uncomfortable, but he wanted to be nearby in the off-chance that something was to... y'know, happen.

The cubs finally jumped off your aching form, alleviating the hundred new bruises you were sure everyone would see for the days to come. You gradually got to your feet, heaving at the pain as you focused on making it out of the pen. You looked to the observer's window showing the crowd and stiffly bowed at the audience. Children clapped as other laughed, dispersing in a different direction soon after. As the people filed out you made your exit in one piece.

You were just about to move on to your next pen check when you were enveloped in a surprise embrace. There were four different arms, then your own two as you struggled to find a location to hold. Panting in your ear made you mildly uncomfortable, and you couldn't help but wince as the appendages mindlessly squeezed your sore bones.

You squirmed out of the grasp in protest, only to see the panicked and worried faces of Finn and Poe. 

"Poe!" you practically shrieked, forgetting every ache as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He returned the hold with equal intensity, beckoning Finn to join in. It was the three of you enveloped in the intense hold. 

They had no idea how relieved you were to see their faces, but simultaneously frightened beyond belief. If Snoke really was keeping tabs on you, then he would know about this reunion. Perhaps he would hunt them down, perhaps he'd give you the same treatment he gave Kylo. Perhaps he'd execute the three of you together, one by one, their deaths being your final memory.

You cursed at them as you pulled away, cringing a little. They watched with concern, questioning the bruises-- especially the one on your face. You wanted to tell them about the bruise, about Snoke. You wanted to warn them, to give them the preemptive; tell them to run for the hills and run fast. But if the tabs truly were there, then...

Wait.

"Where's Rey?" you whispered, looking back and forth between them. 

Finn bit his tongue; Poe's rich brown eyes shaded over. Solemnly, the later informed, "She called a sudden alert, the moment you and... the moment you left." 

You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion, silently asking for elaboration. Finn provided it. "Everyone scattered because of the discovery, and not a lot of people are happy. Rey's going to give General Organa the bad news, and--"

It hit you, hearing her intentions. You frantically shook your head and grabbed them both by the hands. You hummed your frantic desperation, head whipping in and around for any suspicious-looking, near-by predators in this trail of mostly-harmless creatures. Your eyes scanned the trees, and soon the boys took the hint and searched with you.

You hunched forward, them bending in as well to listen to your words. "You guys need to get everyone in hiding. Everyone to every bunker before the end of the month. The First Order somehow found the Base and are working on formulating an operation. They're going to slaughter everyone and everything in their site. Scatter everyone, stay safe, okay? I wouldn't know what to do with myself if..." Tears began welling up in your eyes again, your heart pounding at the possibilities.

You were enveloped in another, very welcome hug. You held them tight, disregarding your pain entirely. You controlled your breathing, albeit meekly, and absorbed their energy. You quickly urged that they leave, as you might be under surveillance, to which Finn personally gave his sympathies.

"Good luck," he murmured. "I hope you get out in one piece."

You gave a solemn sigh, "I do too, Finn."

Reluctantly, they left. They intentionally maintained a sluggish pace, occasionally glancing back at you until they fully disappeared. You hadn't realized you were holding your breath until you shakily inhaled and continued on your duties, desperately wondering if they took your warning to consideration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait~! I hope this chapter was worth it, though. Hope you all are having a fabulous day/night/week/month/life~! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an attempt to channel his pain into anger, he sought out Phasma in the middle of her training for some therapeutic hand-to-hand combat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW** : _Mild Violence, OOC-ness, Fluffy Kylo_

He had watched the interaction between you, the traitor, and the pilot, gut twisting as he averted his eyes from the heartening reunion. Then you had whispered something to the two of them, something Kylo couldn't hear. By the horror he caught in the eyes of the former trooper, it had to have been about the on-coming mission to the South. He made note to bring it up later, even if it would further sever the connection between you both that sent hopeful shivers up his spine.

His back hit the floor yet again. His teeth betrayed him, allowing even the slightest of pained cries to escape. Every inch of him ached, new bruises forming here and there from the endless beatings. He was intentionally ruining himself now; he could annihilate Phasma in a heartbeat if he really wanted to. He had to have been absent-mindedly making the wrong swings and steps to taking her down, ending up on the ground for the tenth time within the last half hour. 

When his eyes re-opened, Phasma stood over him with calculating blues. Her hand extended down to him, the option to give up hanging in the air. The questioning look in her eyes said it all for her, 'Why are you doing this? Why are you purposely ruining yourself? Don't you know what they went through to baby you?'

"Again," he weazed, voice raspy from the screaming and growling. He eagerly took her gloved hand in his and rose to his feet. He held one fist up and before his face, the other one positioned towards his waist as though holding one of his knives; a brawling habit. 

Phasma stood still, surveying her superior's physical capability. She wasn't in position to object to his wishes, but maybe negotiate with him about his health. She wasn't exactly excited to pick a fight with the destructive Master Knight of Ren, especially since she had sparred with him enough times to know his single strategy: throw as many punches as you can.

She prepared herself to spar, adjusting the gloves imprinting their leather into her skin. She took up a defensive position and awaited his advance, watchful eyes locked on his without worry. Considering his exhaustion, she was going to bet on a minute; she glanced at the clock. 

He lunged first, making for an uppercut. Her skilled hands shot out in front of her and smoothly redirected his momentum. She reeled her knee back and bucked it into his gut, ensuring it wasn't hard enough to do any major damage. Despite that, it sent him keeling over, tumbling into a fetal position on the ground. He writhed for a moment, letting out a quakey breath before moving to sit up.

"Pat out, Commander," she advised in a warning tone, earning a curse in return. She narrowed her eyes and rooted her bare foot on his forehead. With a slight flick of her ankle, she kicked him back down. He needed to know when to give up, one way or another. "As your sparring partner I suggest you pat out."

He groaned on the ground, apathetically watching Phasma as she stood over him once more. She didn't offer assistance to his feet, but instead knelt down. "Now that you're unable to fight," she sighed, "it's your cue to tell me what's eating you. I have a class waiting on me and if I'm behind quota it'll be on your head."

"Fine, go," he croaked, turning on his side and away from her. 

She considered him a moment, weighing her options. Follow orders and return to work or prevent the future destruction of the apartment building by listening to his issues. 

Such dilemmas weren't infrequent. Whenever he was in a fit, or having a bad day, or anything really, he'd spar. Hux was better off as an administrative officer than a soldier, and if he did have to fight it'd be a shootout, nothing hand-to-hand. If it was one-on-one, he'd hire a Stormtrooper to do it for him. 

Spoiled brat.

Since the three of them were under Snoke's wing, she had to play the caretaker and provider. She wasn't just the babysitter, she was the full-on guardian for both Hux and Kylo despite such a close age difference between them. She was the eldest, but she was still an adolescent. She lost her childhood, her teenagehood, her young adulthood, and because of it became the very soldier Snoke was ambitious to see. But to Kylo and Hux, she was still their adopted sister whom they seeked out for advice and for help whenever need be.

With a sigh, she got up and started for the exit--

"Do you think we could dominate Snoke?"

The awkwardly worded inquiry stopped her completely in a trap of uncertainty. Panic erupted from within her, bringing with it the intensity of a million roaring volcanoes. With balled up fists she leaned back down and struck Kylo, effectively leaving the harshest slap-mark on his cheek. She grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and held him up to her. 

"I don't care what it is that has gotten into you, Ren," she hissed lowly, keeping her aggressive words at a whispered level in the off-chance there were any listeners. She couldn't afford a trooper getting inspired by their Commander's doubts; if one revolted in that class of forty soldiers she wouldn't be able to handle a riot. She took a deep breath, "We, as his drones, are incapable of taking him down on our own. He has unspeakable power, verbally and physically, and no one knows why. Don't be so stupid as to think you have the power to dismantle his doings. You're reckless, but you're not unintelligent. Start acting like it."

His hand gripped her wrist with the strength he could muster up. "He has no humanity," he argued adamantly. "Do you feel nothing for your partner? Do you not feel the slightest bit sorry for them?"

Her eyebrows furrowed a bit, her veins running cold. A shiver clawed its way down her spine, only stifled by the setting of her jaw. She didn't know how she felt for you. With what conversation you held with Phasma, she perceived you as a rebellious anti-authoritarian who openly objected to everything related to the First Order. She envied you for your bravado, especially in the face of death.

But no way in hell was she going to follow your example.

"My partner?" she deflected, gripping his shirt so tightly her knuckles turned white. "I don't know my partner personally, hence is why I refrain from feeling any major emotion towards them. However, I aim to solidify a working relationship with them, as opposed to you and your own partner. Practice what you preach, Commander."

With that, she let his form fall back onto the mat. She grabbed her own bottle and towel, wiping her face and neck down. She was livid with her Commander, letting the realisation settle in that he may harbour some distracting emotion towards you, her partner. Even worse, the three of you were to remain in a single region together in two weeks' time. 

"Commander Ren," she hummed, maintaining her stone exterior. "If you so much as become a liability or make a liability of our newcomer at the expense of our extremely important upcoming operation, you will never live it down. Do you read me?"

Silence fell between them. For a moment she wondered if he had passed out from his defeat, or if he was ignoring her threat all together. In the end, it didn't matter; she had slammed the door to the empty wrestling room before he could get so much as a noise out.

She barely noticed the hum of conversation between her pupils as she reapproached the front. She dropped her belongings in a corner and looked over the crowd, noticing a few faces missing from their prior positions, along with their possession. She'd channel her rage on them later, but until then...

"Time out over," she announced. "Do some basic stretches, because it's time for our hour-long cardio."

Kylo lingered on the firm mattress below him. The pain was agonisingly beautiful, as though it were a faucet and he was on his knees lapping it up at the nozzle. He needed the darkness within the harm to guide him through, to convert into anger. He tried so hard to enrage himself and conform to the morals written in his skin, translated from the whip-scars brought unto him by his master's trademark calligraphy. 

She was right. He wasn't strong enough to overcome Snoke's supremacy, and more likely than not he wasn't ready to survive Snoke by becoming the face of the First Order. If anyone was fit for that role it was Hux, he knew how to lead, handle, and construct an army. Phasma might've been a good choice, but her own personal goals had never come to light. She was an empty shell to him, a robot meant for the pleasure of producing Snoke's military.

Yet, she hit a soft spot he wasn't aware he even had. He murmured your name, wondering why it rolled off his tongue so comfortably. It was the pity that he accepted, he concluded. 

Maybe he did need to lay off of you, especially around Phasma. You'd been swarming his thoughts day and night, and uncomfortably he'd been welcoming you into his mind. He was sure that if you could read minds you would see nothing but a bleak, grey world with a hollow atmosphere, the river of blood flowing leisurely amongst the lily pads of faces, address notes, and weapons. 

However, with that thought in mind, he felt the clouds above part and expose his world to the sun yet again. The rays of light illuminated everything, not a shadow in sight. He could see everything within him, he could see everything around him. Normally he'd fight with the air to cover up the shining bulb, but something within him clicked and he was rendered unable to.

His heart pounded, his mind glazing over with enlightenment. His eyes, while open for any onlooker to gaze upon, only saw the epiphany that beckoned him closer and closer towards the light. His fingers twitched sub-consciously as doubts sucked him towards the fleeing darkness. Yet, he was rooted where he was, only looking in the abyss between both the day and night that seemed to constantly rip itself to pieces.

For the first time in many, many years, Kylo Ren was confident in his decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! The entirety of the week was just an episode of brain fog and I wasn't really able to do much. (heck, I'm having issues determining what happened on Monday and Tuesday). Please enjoy this chapter! <3 Feedback and Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated! <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You check in on Kylo's wounds with initial worries about your encounter with Finn and Poe. However, everything changes when you find more than just a few wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **CW** : _Extremely Fluffy Kylo, Blood/Death Mention_

He had resolve.

He was going to return honour to the Skywalker name.

He was going to rebuild his grandfather's empire, but make it grander.

He was going to surpass his master's power.

And he was going to give you the freedom you wanted, as he still had some humanity that he could finally come to terms with. This was going to be the only act of mercy he'd ever perform, and it was mostly for his own sake; anything to suppress the remorse. 

He was different from Snoke; Snoke's maleficence was complete and utter chaos, something he instilled in Kylo specifically. He manipulated the temper Kylo already resented, and instead of taming the feral monster within him Snoke instead enslaved it, it's only use being for death, destruction, and blood. Snoke convinced him it was the destiny set in stone for Kylo. 

He made a killer out of a child. He gave Kylo the taste of blood, forcing him to drink its adrenaline. He was so young, far too young.

His fingers flexed, resisting the need to create fists. He was trying to meditate, not harness his anger when he needed it least. His brow twitched in the struggle; _concentrate, concentrate_! A growl lingered in the hollow of his throat, threatening to make itself known to the world.

He was furious, he was berserk. He was losing control of himself, and he was--

A knock on his front door defibrillated his heart, tasering the predatory demon that'd been preparing to attack. Grateful the intrusion he got to his bare feet and strode over. He hoped it was Phasma coming to continue the sourly-ended conversation earlier in the day. Looking through the peephole, his heart jolted once again at the sight of you anxiously awaiting at the door. 

You fidgetted in your spot, swaying back and forth and left and right to kill the waiting time. In your right hand was your medical kit, ready to clean his wounds again. You were still in your uniform; you had just finished your shift, probably. This meant you were covered in bear fur, and whatever other essences the rest of the animals could've offered you. 

' _They probably smell like a zoo_ ,' Kylo thought, humouring himself with the imagery that Hux was probably locking himself in his study with air fresheners galore. 

After your encounter with Finn and Poe, worry rushed over you in a typhoon of disaster and panic. You gave away information, and even though you concluded the area was void of any evident eavesdroppers your heart had been giving out on itself. What if you were bugged? What if there were security cameras being linked up to the First Order, and there'd been a camera focused right on you three? What if they could read lips?

Ever since, you'd been squirrellier than a mouse.

You felt like you needed someone to talk to, learn some information behind the First Order's methods and punishments. But you couldn't give it away that you'd been slipping tips off to the Resistance. You had to have an excuse to ask questions, and there was only one you could think of perfectly. 

You lifted your hand to knock again, eagerly wanting to know if you'd be able to get answers as soon as possible. But just as antsy you forced it back down in the speed of light. The door swung open to show a slightly dishevelled Kylo.

His midnight waves were mussed and combed out of his face. He stood a little uncomfortably, and by the hulking, hand-shaped bruise swelling on his face you concluded he was in more pain than ever. Did he pick a fight with someone? Who could've had the balls to cause that?

"You're back," he stated; did you hear relief in his tone? He spotted the case in your hand, and his demeanour returned to its natural state-- much to your own relief. He gave a sigh and opened his door farther, gesturing you to enter.

You found serenity walking through his quarters, oddly though for the windows were sheathed in black curtains. No sun leaked through, there was no light at all save for the few candles littered here and there. Minus the unnerving smell of blood, you appreciated the gentle wafts of unascertainable flora, obviously scents of the melting candles.

The scenery was a little too romantic, considering what the purpose of your visit was. You'd be up-and-close, contacting his skin, attempting to soothe his pain by whispering encouragement to him; you'd be seeing the Knight of Ren in his most vulnerable state. The candlelight and intriguingly hazardous sensations flowing through the room, it had to be a set-up for something.

In the middle of his livingroom was a table that stood at the height of your shins, and while you were approaching the surface to rest your kit on, you were shocked to find Kylo standing on it, then taking a lotus position. 

The candles.

The darkness.

The silence.

He was meditating.

You felt like you were intruding on his peaceful practice, that you weren't as welcome as he made you out to be. You hesitated as you realized he was viewing your uncertainty, drinking up the sight of your fear. It must've had a sour taste, as he scrunched his nose and turned away.

"Do you want me to lay on the couch?" his voice ripped through the silence, dragging your attention to him.

Giving him a curt nod he stood and stepped over onto the couch in a single fluid motion. He was like the still water after a tsunami, the only remnant following the disastrous levelling of safehavens. Even as he stretched like a stone statue, manuveuring off his shirt as though he were a brick wall, he had a precise method that you could only describe as serpentine.

He laid himself down, back-up; you suppressed a giggle at his feet dangling off the arm of his Charleston. You were about to set your kit down when you caught glimpse of a particular black-and-blue ring freshly forming around one of his big toes; the obvious sign of it being broken. Your eyes scanned it over, noting that his ebony freckles fell to his ankles as you rolled up his pant-sleeve. A trail of harsh bruises lined his calf, a particularly rough wound marking the back of his knee.

"My back," he redirected, his baritone carving away the darkness yet again. 

Each bruise was dimly lit by the flickering flames dancing around you, but every contusion was as bright and flashy as highlighter markers. All concern for your own well-being melted as worry for him replaced its void. You knelt down next to him, watching his biceps contract as your fingers gingerly grazed over the bludgeoning injuries littering his complexion.

"Kylo," your tone reprimanded him. "What... who did this?"

He grunted at you, awkwardly shifting before wincing at the unsatisfied pulse from the contusion stamped on his collar. He deserved the ass-whooping Phasma handed to him, but it didn't mean he wanted you to interrogate him about it. He hummed a lacking answer. 

"I will make this cleaning as painless as possible," you threatened, aware of how blatantly childish you sounded.

He didn't even blink at the consequence. He laid there, waiting patiently. He would've preferred you didn't egg on the pain like he requested in the morning. This way he could refrain from breaking everything in sight and requesting another replacement for his couch, for his bed, for the wall...

He sat up in response and took your hand in his. You flinched back in shock, ready to be subjected to a world of pain yourself. Instead, you were snared in the trap of the enchanting glimmer of candlelight waltzing within those intense brown eyes. You stared for a moment, hypnotised by his silent encouragement. The strength of his grip wavered in worry, unable to stay tight or loose in the entwined knot of both his and your digits.

"I need to ask something of you," he whispered, low and breathy. 

You couldn't believe he was capable of such tenderness; maybe two days prior you might've imagined so but with a life he has lived it was difficult to really let it settle. With a shudder, goosebumps sprouted from the soil of your skin, blooming profoundly on your exposed skin. His hands had been soaked in blood, yet they were as clear as a porcelain doll. Your stomach churned as you felt the sin and the burden of guilt seep in through the palm of your hand-- or perhaps that was nervous sweat.

You hadn't expected to be holding his hand at all, so having your fingers laced with a man you were supposed to loathe with every fibre of your being was... impulsive? Reckless? Without regard for your safety and/or morality? 

Wait. This wasn't your first time holding his hand. You held his hand in your car going to visit BB-8, on the way home from the meeting-- more for your own assurance that Kylo wouldn't die-- and in that very morning, when you guided him to your bed so you could clean the lacerations Snoke had given him. Each time had been platonic, more or less.

This occasion wasn't anything of the sort. It was intimate, it was sincere, and even though he couldn't establish a solid hold on your hand it had the sensation of a soldier begging his nurse for his life. It made you nauseous and unsure; the very romantic setting was knocking you off your game. Any anxiety concerning your conversation with Finn and Poe had been chucked out the window; all you could think about was, ' _is he going to kiss me_?'

Kylo sensed your withering confidence, and tried his hardest to maintain his grip to establish that he did not aim to give you pain. His thumb brushed over your knuckles--

' _There it is again_!' your brain screamed. You prayed to the forsaken gods that the lighting was far too dim for him to notice that the pigment in your cheeks was putting every existing rose to shame. Maybe you were so heated from the small action that the veins within your cheeks became coils and gave a violently embarrassed, rosy hue to the room. 

The simple swipe of your thumb over his hand the day prior must've been so... so... important to him, as though he'd never been caressed like that at anytime in his life. Your touch imprinted itself within him; you'd branded him with your kindness. 

\-- in an attempt to calm you down, but only made your digits as rigid as ice. Your eyes, while shrouded in the darkness of his living space, screamed with the bravery of a mouse. He was to blame for that, he knew; the remorse painted his face in the colours of desperation.

"I'm asking you not to make it so painful, if that is possible," his words were scarcely a whisper, becoming a vacuum to the very air you couldn't breathe. 

Your heart collapsed into the pit of your stomach, plunging into the raging acids threatening to spew back up at him through your anxiety. You nodded your head, stuttering out that you'd do your best. The both of you gave a gentle squeeze to the other, his as a sign of gratitude and yours a silent promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for the wait! <3 Feedback & Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated~! Have a wonderful day/night!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You spend too much time thinking and spiral into the abyss of your mind you hid from the external world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Warning** : _Depression, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Inclination (for a brief second I promise this chapter ends on a good note~), Adult Language_

That night you were unable to sleep. Any sedative you'd dosed yourself with seemed to energise you instead, and any tincture you crammed down your throat did diddlysquat. You were doomed to a life of restlessness, it seemed... but maybe you were just so worked up that you couldn't quite get your eyes to close. Fatigue piled itself on your eyelids, yet your eyes were as strong as the plethora of comforting smells fluttering around you. 

You couldn't get your mind off Kylo. Every touch he'd given you since day one tickled your nerves in remembrance. Your hands, your neck, your face... even the gentle touches from that bloody fantasy the night before fluttered across your mind and projected itself on your skin. 

You remembered how sour he was after watching Hux flirt with you, and how hurt he seemed when you couldn't even pronounce a simple, "Hi". You remembered that small, humble smile after he showered himself in ice water following a lengthy jog. You squirmed, remembering how he felt hovering over you in the hallway of Poe's apartment, his knee and pelvis unwittingly grinding into your--... You remembered the way his eyes flinted with amusement playing with BB-8, even though he'd never admit to having fun. 

You remembered how quickly his tone changed when met with Rey, how he got defensive in her presence. You remembered how solid his nose felt between the slits of your fingers as your fist collided with his smeller. You remembered how large he was beneath you as you tried taking vengeance for the unholy deeds he'd done, but even moreso as he held you under him to calm you down. 

You remembered that look of utter submission he gave you as you held him down in the clinic so the doctors could properly wrap up his snout. You remembered the shock in his eyes when you told the nurse about the springtime corn field, and the sigh he gave when the nurse believed your story. You remembered how he snapped at you in Phasma's car and how you degraded his very being without thinking twice, rendering him a silent and brooding beast. 

You remembered wanting to hold his hand watching him fiddle with his fingers, how the pathos swathed you in pity and remorse for your harsh words. You remembered how heart-wrenching his silence was once you arrived at the meeting. You remembered where each and every dent was on that obsidian helmet, the sleek slivers of every scratch and scar marking its polished complexion. You remembered how he let you hide behind him in Snoke's presence, rooting himself into the ground like a rock.

You remembered how he resembled a volcano behind his charcoal uniform, fuming with rage and ready to spout; how his lava spurted when he launched himself at you, blade shimmering in the moonlight. You remembered hearing the haunting heaves of a phantom's breath escaping his helmet, how he sounded like a bull egged on by the wavering of a crimson sheet. 

You remembered the way he collapsed in your form, how you tried catching him and holding him up while he twitched and refused help. You remembered how lethargic he was laying in the back-seat of the car, his head in your lap for elevation. You remembered tears piercing the back of your eyes as you offered to take care of him, so Phasma could clean the mess and Hux could carry on with his life. 

You figured, if you died you hoped it'd be quick.

Your fingers travelled to your neck and self-consciously rubbed the expanse of your skin. You could still feel the pressure of his fingers digging into your neck, his hot, shaking breath touching your skin as he leaned in closer, those big, brown eyes drilling holes to ensure he was establishing a point with you.

_"With the pain comes my anger, and my anger drives me to survive."_

Why did he want you to make the pain bearable this time? Well, he was meditating, so he might've wished to carry on in peace after you were finished.

You made sure he was comfortable on the couch as you applied a cloth to his lacerations. With each grunt, groan, and hiss of pain you met him with an encouragement, telling him he was doing great and it'd be over sooner than he'd think. He'd let you know when to stop, so he could settle himself and relax before you continued. At one point, he requested that you keep talking about yourself or that you sing or just do... something to distract him. 

One idea hit you square in the face, and as tempting as it had been and it had become...

... it took every inch of your strength to hold back from taking that face and littering it in mindless, distracting kisses.

You filled your pillow with an opera of distressed whines. If anyone had to suffer, it had to be you. 

You got drafted into the same war twice without warning. You become the forever-sacrificing harbourer of dangerous fugitives and criminals against your will. You lied to Republican Officials almost every other month-- your new home might as well have been a holding cell. You got requested by the Resistance to study chemistry, just so you could later build bombs for them, and the little extra toxins. Those bombs would eventually stock a warehouse, then finally lead to the second-most devastating event since this war began-- the first being the complete annihilation of the New Republican Government, politically and physically. 

Those bombs, built by your hands... you deserved to be First Order. You deserved to be labelled a murderer. You deserved to be lied to, to be dragged back into the war you ran from for your own mental, emotional... your health in general. You deserved to be a pawn in a tyrant's game of chess. You deserved to lose your family. You deserved to lose your friends. You deserved nothing, not even the affections of the murderer just across the hall from you.

That... that was your true life. A bomb technician, a craftsman of venom, a refugee who keeps wandering in circles looking for a way out. You could so easily just drop dead, give up for good and abandon the whole "I want to redeem myself" ambition. Give in to your hopelessness, forever be the coward you convinced yourself to be. 

All you'd have to do is pluck the vial from the tree and say the word.

... Fuck **_no_**.

You couldn't be alone, not like this. Not when you were so ready to just drop everything and die. You were _not_ going to go down that road again. Fuck that noise. Fuck all the noise that begged you to surrender. Fuck everything. 

You leaped out of bed and, bundling yourself in your own blankets you scurried from your bed and rushed open the door. You refused to suffer when you had three other living beings available-- or maybe just one available, but that's not the point. You were a danger to yourself now, not just to other people. 

You didn't even move to lock your apartment as you hurried across the way to Kylo's apartment. You rapped on the door hastily, not regarding that there could be other sleepers in the building. When you got no answer, your desperation heightened. You banged on the door, whisper-yelling at Kylo to open up--

"He's on a mission."

You jumped at how smoothly the unexpected voice severed your thoughts and intentions. You made note that Phasma was a silent drifter, quieter than a mouth and thus probably swifter than a falcon. You leaned against the door, settling from your heart attack.

"What're you doing here?" you sighed, neither angrily or enthusiastically. You didn't mean to come off rudely-- if you did at all-- you were just between panic and apathy. 

She tilted her head quizzically; you swore her eyes were glowing in the dim lighting. "I could ask you the same question," she replied in a soothing tone. "However, I'm letting your presence at his quarters slide by. I'm to retrieve you to begin your training as a First Order soldier."

Your mind was still fumbling for itself, a thousand different voices within yelling some obscene thing as you tried your hardest to listen. Slowly, you managed to piece things together bit by bit. Kylo wasn't here, and seeing how late it was he was more than likely out on a hunt. This also meant that, no matter what his health was like he was expected to clean Snoke's dirty laundry. Phasma must have a ruthless regiment program to get her soldiers to tip-top-shape if she's retrieving you so late at night-- or so early in the morning. 

On one end, it's past continental lockdown; if you two are caught out it's a prison sentence and torture until we give away details about the First Order. But on the other hand her training could very easily be a fantastic way to distract yourself, and who knows? Maybe her training regiment involves running as fast as you can away from the cops?

You didn't hesitate to get dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOHHHH plot twist. So you're really a chemist, eh? Not just an apothecary, but a victim of persuasion that led to the explosions and destruction of the First Order's major plans? What do you guys think? And how about this character development? Is it hitting home (is it crashing into the building pls let me know if it's too much I really don't want to put people in an uncomfortable situation)? Feedback & Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated! (like, extremely appreciated) I hope you have an amazing day/night! <3
> 
> (also I promise there will be Hux very soon)


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